


Royal Protocol

by roguehearted, The_Asset6



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bromance, Brotp, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Gen, More Like Gladio-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 190,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: Noctis didn’t think his life could get much worse after Niflheim won the war and he and his father were subjected to what passed for a peace treaty by the empire’s standards. With their enemies sharing their roof and making their demands, he hardly wanted to add a new shadow to his worries, but if Noctis is going to protect his friends and family, he knows he has to do whatever necessary to reclaim his throne.Having already resigned himself to the fate that would follow his mission, Prompto just hoped to enjoy what little time he had. But as the crown prince of Lucis defies his expectations, Prompto begins to believe assassinating him may be harder than expected.Two worlds collide and unlikely friendships form as the two attempt to change their fates and their worlds for the better.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first collaborative work between [roguehearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted) and [The_Asset6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6)! This is a story that we've been working on for quite some time, and as such, we have a good bit of it done and the rest fully planned out. You can expect updates every other Tuesday so that we have plenty of time to keep our independent fics regularly updated. (Speaking of, "Crownsguarded" fans, it's coming tomorrow!!!) If you need something to read in the meantime, feel free to visit us there until the next update here! 
> 
> Without further ado, we hope you enjoy this first chapter of "Royal Protocol!"

For as long as Noctis could remember, there had been tension and fighting between Lucis and Niflheim. He couldn’t recall when that had turned into an outright war, but he was certainly going to remember the day they _lost_ that war.

The envoys from Niflheim would be arriving shortly, and Noctis was expected to be in attendance to receive them--a looming obligation that was doing nothing to motivate him into moving, much to Ignis’s apparent dismay.

The last thing Noctis wanted to do was stand there, neatly dressed, as they signed everything away. Well, maybe not _everything_ per the treaty’s basic outline: while Niflheim would take control of the outer regions, Insomnia would be left under their command.

Noctis scoffed at the thought. How long would _that_ last? How long would that parasitic leech of an empire be content with those terms? Noctis assumed they wouldn’t be happy with just letting Insomnia remain untouched for long. They’d eventually force them under their rule as well, which was something he had ranted about to Ignis the entire time he was getting dressed. It had done nothing to improve his mood.

“Do you think that you may be able to keep your look of disdain to a minimum?” Ignis asked as they made their way to the audience chamber.

Noctis sighed, trying to fashion his appearance into a more neutral expression. He would be doing his father no favors by exuding outright hostility towards their esteemed conquerors-- _guests_ , he meant _guests_.

Ignis glanced over at Noctis one last time before letting out a sigh of his own. “I suppose that will do.”

“I don’t see why I even have to _be_ here,” Noctis muttered. The formalwear was starting to feel increasingly suffocating as they headed down the long hallway.

“His Majesty merely requested your presence. I would venture to say that your involvement in the matter sets a precedent of solidarity.”

 _Oh, sure._ Now _he wants to spend time with me_ , Noctis thought glumly as a guard opened the door to their destination, permitting them entry.

It was difficult to remain bothered by his father’s distance, though, when he was hardly the only one who had been too focused on the impending event to socialize. In fact, Gladio’s absence inside the audience chamber left Noctis feeling a bit uneasy. With each day leading up to Niflheim’s arrival, he had gone deeper and deeper into Shield mode. The night before, he'd told Noct that he planned on meeting up with them early in the hopes of venting some frustration before their unwelcome guests arrived, but obviously that didn't exactly pan out.

He tried not to let it throw him. Everyone had been extremely busy with preparations this morning, the Crownsguard in particular. Gladio’s father likely wanted to complete a final review of the security plans, and then there were last minute checks to made before the show could begin. Noctis knew that those were all necessary precautions given who they were dealing with, but it didn’t make standing around waiting for the inevitable any easier without his Shield present.

_A perfect start to the day._

As if on cue, Gladio hustled through the double doors of the dinky little audience chamber they only used for less desirable guests. Without so much as a glance at anyone else present, he made a beeline for them and took his position at Noctis’s side.

Of course, he didn’t waste a second in surveying him with a disapproving frown. Noctis already knew that today was bound to be awful, and that fact was probably still written all over his face despite his best efforts to hide it. Ignis had thankfully kept the not so gentle nudging to a minimum, having apparently given up hope that Noctis could look delighted by the idea of hosting a group of imperial diplomats. Gladio, not so much.

"Cheer up," he muttered for Noctis's ears only. "Sooner this is over with, sooner you can get your ass beat in the training room."

That one had a smile tugging at the corners of Noctis’s lips. Initially, he had been thinking about skipping out on training today, but now he was starting to think that just maybe he’d like to work off a little steam after the so-called festivities. They had to present a strong image, otherwise their unwelcome guests would think they could waltz in and run the place. Of course, they probably would anyway, but they shouldn't invite it if they could get away with it.

With that thought in mind, he squared his shoulders, standing a little taller and looking a little prouder. Noctis wasn't about to let the Niffs see that they were getting to them. It was his father who would have to put up with the worst of it anyway; Noctis didn’t think he’d be able to stand being diplomatic towards the dried up marshmallow that was Emperor Aldercapt no matter how many training dummies he tore apart.

Well, usually it was Gladio who got that honor, but he could dream.

A commotion by the far window drew Noctis’s attention, and he glanced over to see that a few of the council members and advisors were crowding around, attempting to sneak the first peek at the oncoming douchebag parade. Beside him, Gladio rolled his eyes at their behavior.

“Well,” he grumbled while giving Noctis a friendly nudge, “sounds like we got incoming.”

 

***

_Well, we’re already off to an awesome start._

Prompto was confident his commander had been in a worse mood than usual since the second security checkpoint they’d passed on their way to the Citadel. Loqi Tummelt, like most of the ranking Niflheim officers, had a huge ego--one that had _not_ been flattered by being bumped nearly to the rear of the procession. Prompto would hardly consider it _his_ fault, but somehow Loqi would see it that way. After all, Prompto was his plebeian soldier and the lucky dude they’d selected to bring with the envoys. It only made sense that Loqi would assume the best spot would be his.

And yet, here he was in the back with the rest of the scrubs, practically carrying the luggage.

Maybe it just wasn’t his day. Loqi had already caught flack for the fact that Prompto was such an excellent shot but somehow still languished in the lower ranks of his battalion. Caligo had used that as an opportunity to insist that Loqi wasn’t paying close enough attention to his troops, which might be true, but Prompto wasn’t that concerned about climbing the ladder of the Niflheim army. And, no matter how fun it was to hear, he was even _less_ thrilled about his commander receiving a dressing-down in front of him.

That did not endear him to Loqi at all. Not one bit.

In an eery stroke of timing, Loqi cut his eyes over to him, and Prompto could tell his commander was either crafting an insult or attempting to remember what to call him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Remember,” Loqi muttered curtly, “you can be replaced in the event you prove to be an embarrassment. You are to report to me each evening on the progress of your mission. I need not remind you what will happen if you fail.”

If it weren't for the fact that they were supposed to present a united front under the wary gazes of their enemies, Prompto would have rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he did a little anyway, but he doubted it was obvious enough to earn him Loqi's ire. This constant prodding at him was hardly specific to their present situation, and he hadn’t been much better before they arrived in Lucis. His commander was constantly in a pissy mood, which had only intensified since Prompto was chosen for this job instead of him, so it wasn't like it could get much worse. Besides, what would he do? Send Prompto to scrub the barracks bathrooms again? Ha. The joke was on him: Prompto wouldn't be going back to Niflheim.

At least, he had the sinking suspicion he wouldn't. Not unless he was exceptionally lucky, and that was never in the cards for him.

Ah well. If he never had to see Gralea again, it would be too soon anyway.

"Easy there, _Sir_ ," he waved off his commander flippantly, adding the honorific as an afterthought. "Pretty sure the emperor wouldn't have hand-picked me if he thought I'd humiliate him."

Sure, it was probably pushing his luck, but they were too far now for Loqi to retaliate the way he would have in Niflheim. Otherwise, he’d have been more careful about his tone. Inside the Citadel, being led up to the audience chamber where they were expected wasn't the best place for him to do something drastic like physically remind Prompto who was in charge here. Well, he hoped so, anyway. After all, they both had jobs to do; it would be counterproductive if Prompto were too damaged to fulfill his. Loqi couldn't possibly hate him enough to cause a scene in front of the emperor.

...Never mind. That was a stupid thought.

From the looks of things, he already had his work cut out for him beyond his concerns about his commander. As impressive as the inside of the Citadel was--by far more marvelous than Gralea would ever be capable of building--the glares they received from just about everybody set Prompto slightly on edge. He was thoroughly trained (the best of his unit, even), but he wasn't stupid enough to believe that that made much difference around here. Most of these guards had magic. Niflheim may have won the war, yet he didn't want to be on the receiving end of the Crystal's power if it was truly as formidable as his briefing had indicated.

Yeah, Loqi probably wasn't the worst of his concerns on this trip. Especially not when there were guards in Lucis that looked like...well, baby behemoths with more hair.

Based on the glowers and sneers they were getting they were getting as they passed by, it was easy to assume the only thing stopping the guards from taking their heads off as they made their way into the Citadel was _great_ restraint.

Well, it wasn’t as if Prompto was expecting a warm welcome.

 

***

As the last of the envoys disappeared into the Citadel many floors below, a sort of calm descended over the room that Noctis hadn’t been expecting. It wasn’t until his father arrived, however, that everyone scrambled away from the windows to stand at attention. He found it more than a little difficult to keep his snicker of amusement to himself, but Noctis thought he managed it well enough. Sometimes, it amazed him just how childish grown adults could be with their drooping shoulders at the disappointment of having to return to their stations. There wasn’t much more to see when the Niflheim contingent had long since passed out of their sight and were currently being escorted up the stairs, anyway.

From this distance, it appeared that the empire had arrived with a pretty interesting mix of characters given that their leader was pushing...what, nine thousand? He had no heir and had surrounded himself with equally decrepit-looking advisors. The youngest one there had to be a commander that looked like he still needed his mother present to drive. Noctis had said as much while Ignis was going over their guest list with him.

There was also the unique addition of one of their soldiers, though there hadn’t been much information on him, so Noctis hadn’t given it much thought. Why they thought they needed to bring _him_ with them when they had already won was beyond him.

They could work that out later, though. For now, he spared a quick glance to his father, offering him a tiny smile in solidarity. He had been the one who requested Noctis be present for this, so it would be a good idea to be there for him more than just physically present in the room.

_Easier said than done._

Noctis went rigid for a moment as their so-called _esteemed guests_ began to file into the room like the ugliest beauty pageant ever. Almost involuntarily, he started mentally checking them off:

_Emperor Curmudgeon. Check._

_Commander Ass Kisser. Check._

_Commander Boy Band. Check._

_Legion of Doom…er, Advisors. Check._

Ah, and there was their soldier addition. He seemed a little young to be part of this if he wasn’t a higher-up. Then again, that one commander was clearly not that old, but Noctis assumed his daddy had gotten him the position rather than anything he was actually capable of himself. They all actually looked like Gladio could snap them in half without trying too hard. How was it that they won this war, again?

That’s right: his dad did not want to continue sacrificing lives, and Niflheim clearly gave zero shits about that.

It was evident in the way Emperor Crustbottom did nothing to hide his smirk of satisfaction as he approached Noctis’s father. Noctis was inwardly proud of both his dad and Clarus for not just knifing this jerk and getting on with it.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” Aldercapt began with such a false flourish that Noctis had to stop himself from crossing the room and cracking him across the face. “I do believe this meeting is long overdue.”

"Indeed, it is," Regis replied, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement. It was almost painful for Noctis to watch his father address Aldercapt as if they were anything close to equals. His father was _nothing_ like this monster.

Aldercapt was the man who had organized the systematic destruction of everything the formerly free nations of Eos held dear--liberty, prosperity, freedom from fear. As his dad had told him since he was a kid, it was all in the pursuit of power, the hunt for something that would bring neither joy nor true satisfaction. That could only be found in other, better places.

Noctis wasn’t sure what his father had meant by that, although he had spoken with such passion that Noctis imagined he must have something in mind. Maybe he even believed that Noctis felt similarly, given the way he’d looked at him at the time. He counted himself lucky that his father hadn’t prompted him to elaborate. Even now, he was drawing a blank.

Somehow, his dad managed to maintain his regal, disciplined facade as he continued, "You do us a great honor by traveling all this way. It is our sincerest hope that your stay is both pleasurable and fruitful."

Noctis agreed with that sentiment--if, of course, one meant that the pleasure would be all _theirs_ and the _esteemed_ emperor choked on a fruit seed. The possibility was unlikely, so he would have to make do with wishful thinking; the mental images he could conjure up would suffice.

Pushing back against the mounting rage he was feeling over having to watch his dad play nice with Aldercapt, Noctis opted to distract himself by getting a better look at the rest of the envoys, particularly the out of place soldier that looked like a chocobo with a hormone problem. He would have thought they’d bring someone more impressive in appearance, to be honest. On the surface, this guy didn’t look like much, but Noctis wasn’t stupid enough to think they hadn’t chosen him without reason. Still, Noctis doubted he could be all that highly ranked, not with the way his commander stood next to him with an air of obvious superiority. Well, he supposed that could be how that prepubescent snot rag looked at everyone--everybody had to present an image, after all. And Niflheim’s was one that practically screamed _better than you_.

They must have noticed him staring, because the commander prodded his soldier with a quick nudge, and they both glanced in his direction. Holding back a grimace, Noctis quickly averted his gaze back to Aldercapt, who was clearly looking for a sign of weakness in his father’s rhetoric that he could pounce on. Admittedly, Noctis was impressed that that massive sack of wrinkles managed to hold himself together. He knew that his own father’s health had been in decline, but compared to the dusty bag of skin smirking at him, his dad looked remarkable--the very picture of what a leader should be. At least he had the excuse of maintaining a magical Wall; Aldercapt was just old and staying alive out of spite.

Perhaps the frigid air of Gralea had been preserving his body for this long.

Now _that_ was an interesting thought.

“I imagine it will be. We intend to take in as much Lucian culture as we can before the treaty signing,” Aldercapt carried on, and Noctis did not miss the brief flicker of disgust that flickered in the emperor’s eyes. “Though I suppose it would be rude of us to arrive empty-handed.”

 _It was rude of you to arrive, period_ , Noctis mused to himself, not holding out much hope that the envoys realized this and would retreat back to their frozen wasteland. If only it were that easy. Instead, they would have to endure this discomfort for however long the emperor decided to stay.

And speaking of discomfort, the sensation of being watched had the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and Noctis peered furtively back over at their ridiculous-looking invaders with a frown. Why was that blond one still looking at him?

_Creep._

Noctis snuck a glance at Ignis, who appeared to be staring in that direction as well. Maybe it wasn’t just him, then. Still, it was unnerving to say the least, so he did his best to turn his attention back to his father and not the senile asshole who was talking to him.

“We have a rather promising soldier with us that we were hoping you’d allow to shadow your son and his guard.” Noctis was sure that Aldercapt was well aware that Gladio’s role was that of _Shield_ , and the undercut of the title was intentional lest the Lucians forget who the winners were. Petty and childish--how very fitting for Niflheim. “We thought it might be best to learn how you operate in order to make future dealings in the newly acquired territories more seamless.”

_Seamless, huh?_

Noctis could feel the pleading, _Don’t Speak_ aura radiating off of Ignis, preventing him from loudly protesting this request--if it could even be seen as a request. He knew full well his father wouldn’t be permitted to refuse. The whole farce of making it sound like it was a gesture of goodwill made Noctis want to puke.

He kept his mouth shut, though, grinding his teeth together so hard that he was certain his jaw would snap. If everyone else had to stay silent in the face of these veiled insults, then so would he.

Gladio, for sure, couldn’t have been happy with the slight. To his credit, however,  his Shield didn't lose his temper; he didn't even allow his expression to twitch in the slightest, which actually made Noctis that much more certain that his friend was downright furious. Everyone in the room knew what that little comment had been about--it wasn't subtle or clever, nor was it meant to be. Noctis was pretty sure the emperor wouldn't be capable of making a truly witty insult, although he bitterly realized that Aldercapt had no reason the be clever when he already had all of Lucis by the neck.

Noctis could see in his father’s eyes that he wished to correct the _mistake_. However, he merely nodded once in affirmation, holding his tongue instead. His father was not a foolish man. They didn't hold the high ground, nor would they for the duration of the negotiations. Until such time as they could ascertain the empire's true purpose here--it was unlikely to be as simple as a mere treaty signing, after all--he would have to proceed with caution.

They all needed to.

"Your gesture is greatly appreciated," his dad lied through his teeth with a glance at the soldier in question. "I am sure he will learn much about our ways before long. Prince Noctis is a capable guide."

Well, he already knew that Gladio was _not_ going to like that idea. If anything, the insult to his position was _nothing_ by comparison. This soldier would be shadowing them everywhere? There was no way the emperor could be doing it just for the educational value; there was nothing he couldn't learn through a quick internet search.

Besides what could a simple Niff soldier possibly learn from _him_?

If Noctis thought that Gladio had been a bit overprotective in the past, he could already predict that that would seem mild once this hostile playdate began.

The slight, uneasy shift of Gladio’s weight was all the confirmation that Noctis needed that his suspicions were indeed correct. The game had already begun, and the pieces were starting to move into position. Even as his dad was reassuring the emperor of his ability to instruct this guy, he knew it wouldn't be as simple as that.

Then, something unexpected happened.

At the brief mention of his duty, their unfortunate new shadow took a small step forward; out of the corner of his eye, Noctis spotted Clarus’s fingers twitching as though he expected an attack in the middle of the audience chamber. But the Niff didn’t join in the mutually benevolent bullshit. Rather, he bowed his head deferentially when the king’s eyes fell on him. It only lasted a moment before he resumed his posture and stepped back into line, but the sheer _normality_ of the motion seemed to make the room stop. No one could have anticipated a response like that, not when the rest of the envoys appeared quite happy to sneer at them. Noctis had assumed they’d all be much too stuck on themselves to bother with basic royal protocol.

Well, it seemed like at least one of them had some manners.

If his father was as surprised as the rest of them, he chose not to show it. Turning back to Aldercapt with a very political smile, he offered, "I should think you and your envoys would be weary from your journey. It is, after all, quite a long way."

“Of course,” Aldercapt replied with a smile of his own, one that Noctis thought looked unnatural on the man’s face. “We can agree that it would be best to retire before tonight’s festivities. I trust you have someone to show us to our quarters?”

_Their quarters. Great._

When they left, Noctis wanted those sheets burned. Maybe the beds, too. Screw it, they should probably just burn whatever wing of the Citadel they were putting them up in. Was it too much to hope that the Crownsguard would lead them all straight off the roof instead of the rooms that had been prepared earlier?

He could feel a headache coming on, which was definitely not going to do him any good when all this was over. In light of these new developments, Gladio was probably going to run him ragged in training later. There was just no way he _wouldn’t_ take this out on him--not in a _bad_ way, but he certainly wouldn’t want Noctis being outmatched by some shrimpy snow weasel.

Okay, maybe that was unfair. The soldier didn’t appear to be that much shorter than him. Noctis would just have to refine the insults a bit once he started—what was it they expected him to do? Right, _teach him stuff_.

Noctis was pretty sure if he put his head together with Gladio, they could come up with all kinds of bullshit Lucian customs to show this guy. Until his eye caught Ignis’s knowing gaze, of course.

Fine. So, the royal custom of _the fairer-haired person eats all the vegetables_ probably wouldn’t fly. Still, Noctis was against giving this guy anything of _actual_ value--as if he _really_ believed that they wanted to preserve or learn anything here.

Like it or not, though, Noctis knew he was going to be stuck with this Niff, so there was no sense in being petty and making things harder on his father. He had bigger things to deal with, like the sentient stalk of cauliflower that was Emperor Aldercapt. If that meant that Noctis was expected to deal with his own imperial annoyance, then he’d bear it.

For his father.

And then bitch massively about it to Ignis later. And then when Ignis wouldn’t join in on the complaint-fest, he’d just bounce insults off Gladio, who was probably coming up with some good ones already.

It would be okay. The empire only had them by the neck, waiting to snap it.

...Never mind. This sucked.

 

***

 _Sucked_ was putting it mildly. By the time the king waved for his waiting retainers to lead them out, Prompto thought his heart was going to explode from sheer anxiety. Was it always like this when you were in the presence of royalty? He’d never really noticed around Aldercapt, although that probably had something to do with the fact that the guy was so ancient nobody _really_ considered him much of a threat anyway. That wasn’t to say that King Regis was any spring chocobo--far from it. Despite that, he definitely exuded a certain strength that Prompto could only assume came from the power of the Crystal that had been backing Lucian kings for...well, ever.

Maybe that was it. They didn’t know much about the Crystal aside from what trickled down through the ranks, and even then, it was vague enough that no one had an actual clue. It was all _magic_ this, and _mystical mumbo jumbo_ that. Honestly, Prompto would have thought it was just some kind of act that the Lucians used to throw off their enemies if it weren’t for the Wall that surrounded their Crown City. Yeah, it was a little hard to argue against that one, especially from an airship. In the sky. With a barrier in front of them. At times like that, Prompto thought it was safer to shut his mouth, keep his fingers crossed, and pray to whatever deities existed that they didn’t go hurtling towards the ground in a flaming mess of metal and flesh.

There was always the return trip. And hey, it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of people.

Prompto knew that Loqi had wanted to find something at fault with him during that brief and uncomfortable exchange--when did he not? But _clearly_ he couldn’t come up with anything, although Prompto thought he might have had a problem with the whole bowing thing. Did he not understand the complexities involved in what Prompto had to do? Well, that was a definite possibility: it wasn’t like _he_ had been chosen for what was supposedly the _most important mission in Niflheim’s history_ or whatever they’d fed him. Still, whether Loqi or even the king bought his humility or not wasn't important. The latter hadn't called Prompto any number of the things he totally was, so he’d call it a victory for now.

Actually, the meet-and-greet had gone better than he’d expected, what with the fact that Lucis and Niflheim had been bitter enemies for longer than he’d been alive. He knew going in that it wouldn't be as simple as waltzing up to the king with a bow on his head like _tada, I'm your consolation prize!_ No, it would be an uphill battle just like he'd suspected--one he really couldn't tumble backwards on. If there was one thing Prompto had learned after years of service, though, it was how to keep his game face up. He'd figured out the fun way that not schooling your features well enough would mean gross bathroom duty or the few worse fates than that.

_Nooooo, thank you._

At the moment, Prompto wasn’t even worrying about those things. He was too busy thanking every Astral ever that they were going to get a break before they had to deal with all the pomp and circumstance of royal life. Well, the emperor would be right at home there; the closest Prompto had ever gotten was guarding the doors of major events, and even then it wasn't very often. In Gralea, there weren't many people who could afford the fancy clothes and luxuries he assumed they probably had in Lucis, so state dinners were...bland. Nothing special. He wasn't even sure what to expect from a nation that allowed itself to have a little fun once in a while, but it was as exciting as it was exhausting to think about. ...Then again, that was probably the hours he'd spent in the airship catching up with him. Never mind.

With neither a complaint nor a sigh of relief, as both would be inappropriate, Prompto followed as they were guided out of the audience chamber and down the corridor towards the elevators. (Yes, they didn't have to take the stairs this time!) A short ride later left them at the wing he assumed was just for them--by which he meant that it was heavily guarded by stern, stoic figures who probably wanted to be literally anywhere else right about now.

Prompto paused for half an instant in front of the door to what would apparently be his room while they were staying in Lucis, but he didn't bother to even glance at his commander as he hastened to disappear behind it a moment later. No offense to Loqi (actually, _all_ offense to Loqi), but he didn't need a babysitter to tell him how to act in his own quarters.

Which was...

Was _this_ what they called a room?!

_Oh. Em. Gee._

 

***

 _Five…four…three….two….one._  
  
Ignis was happy that Noctis had the good sense to wait until the envoys had left the room and was well out of hearing-aid range before he let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand through his formerly immaculate hair.  
  
“You couldn’t have waited until we were back in your room for that?” he inquired. The question, of course, was rhetorical, but he knew that wasn’t going to stop Noctis from issuing a smart-ass answer.  
  
“No. I couldn’t.”  
  
How very interesting. Oddly enough, that wasn’t quite as smart-assed as Ignis expected, but high stress and the fact that he had to share the the Citadel with their enemy had obviously thrown Noct off his game--and now the empire would be placing one of their own in close proximity to him. An awkward turn of events, but also an intriguing one, not that Noct appeared to share the sentiment. Rather, his attention was conspicuously drawn elsewhere.  
  
As the prince wandered off towards the king and Master Clarus, Ignis hesitated only a moment in deciding whether or not to follow. In spite of all they needed to accomplish before the banquet this evening, there was no doubt in his mind that Noct needed a few moments to unwind. They all did, as a matter of fact, although he would not be included amongst those who could sit and breathe for the brief span of time they had to prepare. He had work to do, and unlike Noct’s task, it would not wait.

So, with one last glance at his charge and friend, Ignis turned back to Gladio with a cynically quirked eyebrow.  
  
“As Noct’s _guard_ , I’m certain you’ve already concocted a few choice names for our new friend from Niflheim?”

Gladio snorted, his gaze similarly following Noct as he not-so-subtly courted his father’s affection like a cat seeking attention. “Guess you could say that.” 

Utterly unsurprised, Ignis retorted, “While I understand the situation is less than desirable, I should hope the two of you don’t plan on starting an incident out of spite.”  
  
After the slights that had been thrown at Gladio personally and their contingent at large, Ignis assumed that Gladio would not be averse to causing an incident--perhaps he was even itching to. Not that he would disagree that the emperor was the perfect candidate to accidentally take a midnight stroll right off the roof of the Citadel, but Ignis still endeavored to approach the situation with an air of diplomacy. To push an inconvenient person off a tall building, after all, solved nothing.  
  
Perhaps a cliff would be better.  
  
"You've got nothin' to worry about, Iggy," Gladio eventually reassured him, one eye still on Noct and the king. "We'll behave ourselves. Gotta make a good impression on the opposition anyway."  
  
Ignis found some relief in that, however small. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in the two of them, but this was not just an opportunity for Niflheim to dig their nails in deeper. Doors opened both ways: if the empire intended to use their soldier’s position to gather intel on Lucis, then they, too, could use him to gain intel on Niflheim.  
  
What it came down to was who was smarter about it, and they couldn’t be smarter about it if they were too busy being petty.  


He knew Gladio might not like it, but if that was what it took to keep Noct safe, he would do so for as long as they were being shadowed. A duration, as it happened, that Niflheim had kindly left out of their presentation.  
  
_How typical._.  
  
Still, Ignis doubted that he had _nothing_ to worry about. Gladio and Noct would find their own ways of venting their frustrations, and that was worrisome enough. While King Regis’s own staff would undoubtedly be tending to matters concerning the emperor and his commanders, Ignis figured that if this soldier was to be Noct’s special guest, it would be up to him to handle those circumstances. It was always better to see to it without having to be instructed, as well.  
  
“I suppose I will see to it that our guest is settling in well.” Ignis cast one final glance in Noct’s direction. He knew he’d be able to trust Gladio to ensure they got back in time to get ready for tonight. Whether or not they were both presentable... That was another matter. “If I am not back before the dinner begins, please make sure Noct arrives on time and dressed for the occasion.”

 _No jeans,_ he added to himself. It was not worth mentioning to Gladio--he’d best already know.  
  
With that final plea, Ignis headed towards the guest wing to ensure the schedule was relayed to the appropriate parties.

 

***

 

As soon as the envoys had filtered out of the chamber, Regis allowed his shoulders to droop with the weight of their burden. There was so much at stake that his mind was awhirl with all the things he would need to remember in the coming days, starting with the feast in their conquerors' honor this evening. That would be one of his least favorite royal events, and he had been present for the state dinner of M.E. 725.

For now, the best he could do was relax while he had the chance. Perhaps a nap was in order, something that would strengthen him or, at the very least, present the illusion that he was well rested. That was a nearly impossible feat these days.

Gesturing for his remaining retainers to take their leave, Regis watched as his son drifted away from his retainers and slipped past the dawdling council members awaiting recognition, a slight smile playing on his lips. The latter could wait a bit longer; there were more important matters to be discussed in the meantime. His son had handled himself with all the grace and dignity of a monarch for the brief time that they were expected to entertain their unfortunate guests, and he couldn't be more proud that he had managed it for this long. He only wished that he could find the words when Noctis stopped just out of reach, looking hesitant to speak.

Despite his silence, there must have been something in Regis’s gaze that strengthened Noctis’s resolve, as he finally ducked in closer and murmured, “So, you really want me to teach that guy anything?”

Regis offered him a warm smile. He, of all people, could understand his son's dismay and irritation. The very notion that he would need to leave Noctis with that soldier unsettled him enough; he knew that Gladiolus was perfectly capable of protecting his son, but it was still a difficult situation to swallow. Perhaps that was the greatest defeat of all: realizing that the empire could, at least for the time being, dictate the fate of his own child.

"I care less about the teaching and more about the learning," he answered quietly, putting an arm around Noctis's shoulders and guiding him away from the straggling diplomats. Now wasn't the time to embarrass him with paternal displays while he was still under the watchful eyes of his retainers and friends.

To his surprise and delight, he need not have worried: although his son attempted to hide it with a neutral facade, Regis did not miss the moment his son moved in closer to the casual embrace.

With a glance back over his shoulder to make sure their privacy held, Regis quashed the comfort that simple gesture gave him and continued, "We cannot determine the full extent of the emperor's motives in leaving this soldier at _your_ side in particular. However, it gives us an opportunity to use it to our advantage." He smiled sympathetically to soften the blow of what he considered the most onerous favor he'd ever requested of his son: "Do as the emperor wishes for now. Show this boy the Citadel and the rest of the city. Let Ignis instruct him on our customs and traditions, and keep Gladiolus at your side _always_. If any information about his true purpose or that of his government can be gleaned through your interactions with him, do so. We will need all the intelligence we can acquire in the days to come."

It wasn't something he relished. In fact, he hated the taste of the words on his lips. Regardless, it was necessary, and they would endure the unendurable the only way Regis knew how: by fighting back with quiet resolve.

In lieu of an immediate reply, Noctis ducked his head. Regis thought he might be mistaken, but he could have sworn a small smile had graced his son’s features before he turned away. If that was the only accomplishment he could take from today, then he would be quite content indeed.

“We’ll be fine,” Noctis muttered after a moment.

His tone was firm, yet Regis suspected his son was merely trying to downplay his newly acquired burden. The sentiment was a noble one, even though he loathed for Noctis to carry it to begin with. If he could, he would have shouldered it himself. He, however, would have his hands full with the emperor, and for all that he wished to relieve Noctis of this duty, doing so would only invite greater problems.

“Doubt any of them have much intelligence to offer, anyway,” Noctis added before he had a chance to reply, looking pleased with his own assessment. “If he says anything of value, though, we’ll let you know.”

"This is all I ask," chuckled Regis fondly, jostling Noctis a little for his sarcasm. It was appreciated, little as it could do to lighten the load on either of their shoulders. This was, after all, a defeat; it was not meant to be easy. Whatever solace he could take in his son's smiles now that he was living at the Citadel again would be a welcome encouragement.

Unfortunately, there were responsibilities they had to attend to that would keep them from engaging in the pleasure of each other's company all day. The banquet scheduled in a few hours was to be an affair of special magnificence--only the best for their imperial guests, of course--and it would be unwise to attend without some small measure of rest. Emperor Aldercapt was a great deal older than Regis ( _not that he appears as such by comparison_ , he bitterly reminded himself), but he had also ruled much longer. Despite his agreement with Noctis on the level of intelligence contained within the empire, there was no denying that Aldercapt was a practiced manipulator. They would all do well to have their wits about them during every interaction, regardless of how casual it might be considered.

With a glance at his son's Shield, who had retreated to stand beside the door until they were finished, Regis's expression fell a bit before he was able to shore it up. Parting from Noctis with villains sharing their home left an unpleasant taste with him, one reminiscent of the night his son had been surrounded by death and destruction while Regis was too far off to spare him grievous injury.

 _Never again_ , he'd sworn to himself then. He did so again now, eyes drinking in the sight of the adult who never would have been had he failed even more thoroughly than he already had--the son who was gracious enough to subtly wriggle closer when Regis felt he hardly deserved the comfort of his touch. His beautiful, brave son.

_Never again._

"As riveting as our shared disdain for our guests would be to discuss, we both must make ready for tonight. I trust," Regis added with a somewhat forced smirk as he ran his fingers teasingly through his son's carefully styled (and slightly disheveled) hair, "that you'll arrive dressed appropriately for your station?"

Noctis ducked away, scowling a bit as he tried to undo the apparent damage that had been done to his coiffure. The gesture was halfhearted at best, and just as Regis anticipated, the look Noctis aimed at him did not have much bite to it.

“You should probably coordinate with the emperor,” he joked once he’d corrected Regis’s mistake. “Would be pretty embarrassing if you guys showed up dressed the same.”

Chuckling a bit at the idea of arriving to the evening's spectacle as the emperor's twin (which would never happen, because he would burn anything in his closet that remotely resembled Aldercapt's style), Regis put a hand on Noctis's back and guided him towards the door where Gladiolus was waiting. Fortunately, he trusted Ignis too much to believe that his son would be any less prepared for this evening than himself: his son’s chamberlain had likely already managed the finer details of his attire. In fact, if Regis knew him and his propensity for perfection as well as he thought, he was quite certain that there was an immaculately pressed suit adorned with the embellishments of his station waiting for him in his room. Regis might not have been sharing fashion advice with the emperor this evening, but it was a small comfort to know that his match would be a more palatable one.

Whether Noctis was considering the humiliation of wearing similar attire to his father or there was something else troubling him, Regis noticed the way his eyes drifted towards his cane before he could correct himself. It was hardly a simple accessory to forget when it tapped against the marble tile, echoing through the chamber in reminder of all that Regis had lost to the power which sapped his strength even now. It was premature to imagine, but he hated to think of his son in the same predicament: that youthful exuberance drained from his face, leaving exhaustion and despair in its wake. For as aggrieved as Regis frequently felt with his own destiny, the idea that Noctis would share the same fate left an emptiness in his chest that he could not seem to fill.

The Crystal, the empire, the steady yet insidious flow of time…

Would they ever be free of their burdens? Would the Astrals themselves ever tire of the suffering their line had been forced to endure?

It was a foolish thought, one that Regis had abandoned long ago. Even so, it was a pleasant notion to entertain once in a great while.

Pleasant notions were what drew him from his bed every morning, and they were what dispelled the somber atmosphere that had settled between them now. With a wry smile, Regis nudged Noctis’s shoulder once more and assured him, “You needn’t concern yourself.”

“Good,” Noctis approved, shifting in apparent uncertainty as he spared a glance for Gladiolus. “I’ll, uh, see you tonight then.”

Regis wished he did not have to ask, yet given the necessary nature of their interactions before their guests, it was unfortunately understandable. As much as Regis would have loved nothing more than to keep Noctis close to him through these difficult trials, there were formalities that needed to be upheld, not least of which that the emperor would have to be his first and foremost priority. Therefore, he supposed he would have to appreciate his son’s presence for what it was whilst grinning and bearing the rest.

Nodding to his son's Shield as they approached the door, Regis confirmed in as bolstering a manner possible, "You shall indeed."

 _For better or worse_ , he decided not to add. They were both well aware of their respective duties; it was something Regis took great pride in to see how Noctis shouldered his responsibility in a way he hadn't not long ago. If there was one positive aspect of this living hell they were about to enter, flippant as it might seem to believe, it was that Regis could witness his son blossoming into the fine king he would one day become--a day he would not live to see, in the habit of monarchs.

Perhaps that was what made him stop short at the exit and shift his cane to the opposite hand so his left could grasp Noctis's shoulder tightly. In that one point of contact, he tried to transmit all the love and admiration he had felt for his son since the moment he was born as he sincerely assured him, "I would have no one else at my side."

Well, no one but Clarus, but that had long since become habit. He did not care to ruin the moment with such a reminder, not when his greatest concern was Noctis’s confidence. He would need it if they were to emerge on the other side of this travesty in one piece. Of that, Regis was more than certain.

And that, fortunately, was not the only surety he harbored.

As he stepped out into the corridor and inclined his head towards his own Shield, who fell into step beside him immediately, Regis hesitated when Gladiolus’s voice drifted out to them from the audience chamber.

"You all set? This _guard_ is playing chamberlain for a while."

That bit of sarcasm was enough to bring a smirk to his lips, and he glanced over to see that Clarus was not immune to his son’s remark either. His was a more long-suffering reaction, yet the amusement in his eyes gleamed back at Regis nevertheless.

“That sounds dangerous,” Noctis retorted in much the same manner.

Shaking his head, Regis left them to their exchange and led the way towards the elevators. Yes, they had a difficult journey ahead of them, but he was grateful to know that his son was in capable hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference note: One of The_Asset6's favorite lines from the book "1984" is, "To push an inconvenient person over a cliff solves nothing." You'll see a bit of a reference to that in this chapter!


	2. House-Warming

This had to be a trap.

Compared to Prompto’s shared, cramped space in the barracks back in Niflheim, just this one bedroom was practically a palace in itself. There was absolutely no way that such finery was meant for him—and it  _ was  _ fine. Everything was so...so  _ clean _ that he hardly knew what to do with himself. Windows draped with black curtains gave him a view of the city and, far beyond, what he could only assume was the ocean. (If it was, then he could honestly say it was the most dazzling thing he'd ever seen, even if it was merely the tiniest strip on the horizon from here.) There was white wallpaper with gold inlay from ceiling to floor; the brightness perfectly matched the style of the furniture, which was  _ way _ more than he could ever use--a dresser, a nightstand, a bed...

A  _ bed _ .

Holy shit, there was an actual  _ bed _ .

So, beds were basically the floor in Gralea. There were a handful of steel frames with sharp metal springs and deflated mattresses, but those were for the beautiful people: namely, the soldiers who ruthlessly wrested them away from whoever had one. Usually in the middle of the night. When they were sleeping. With knives. Anyway, the point was that beds weren't exactly a common commodity where he came from if you didn't want to get your throat slit.

The fact that the Lucians had provided such an extravagant luxury for him had to be an oversight. A mistake had obviously been made, and Prompto had been given the keys to the emperor’s suite instead. Someone was going to be in  _ huge _ trouble for this--it would probably be him and whatever poor Lucian Aldercapt demanded to be beheaded for this grievous insult.

Prompto knew he should tell someone if for no other reason than to minimize the amount of bloodshed with a swift resolution.

Instead, he let himself indulge for a few minutes because hey, this whole thing was a suicide mission anyway. He could afford a little bit of fun in the meantime, and this? Yeah, this was  _ so _ totally worthwhile.

Plus, he was simply doing his job. If what passed for beds in the barracks were rare, then a bed like  _ this _ was unheard of. It couldn’t be real--maybe they'd gotten a big mattress and filled it with tacks or something to make the emperor uncomfortable when he was trying to sleep. Or perhaps the second he put any weight on it, the whole thing would collapse. Juvenile, but still a pretty good possibility. It would be treasonous of him not to at least test it before handing it over to his fearless leader. Really, it was for the good of everyone that he just took a few minutes to check things out.

Poking at it a few times assuaged his concerns and simultaneously sent his confusion through the roof. It was...soft. And fluffy. And  _ huge _ .

But no tacks. Definitely no tacks.

Prompto gazed hesitantly back at the door, chewing at his bottom lip. With his patriotic duty done in literally no time at all, he knew he needed to report this now. The longer he remained here inspecting this mattress-shaped cloud, the longer the emperor fumed in a commoner’s room that was meant for him.

Was it so wrong of him to take advantage of a perfectly good mistake, though? After all, if the Lucians couldn't get their rooms straight, that wasn't his fault. He hadn’t finished checking everything for booby traps, and...well, he just wanted to enjoy what it felt like to be in a fancy, royal room for the first (and undoubtedly only) time ever.

Still, he bit back the urge to jump on the bed, just in case someone else realized their error and barged in to find him messing up the emperor's suite. Then it would  _ totally  _ be his fault.

His reservations lasted all of five minutes, long enough for him to investigate everything else these chambers had to offer in a state of dazed amazement. Everything anyone could need was furnished, along with plenty of stuff that nobody could possibly have any use for. There was even a  _ bathroom _ . With towels.  _ Clean _ towels. On a heated rack. Next to a pristine, sparkly white tub. Did  _ all _ royalty live like this, or were the Lucians just super over the top?!

Either way, it seemed like a waste not to take advantage while he could! They'd given him this room, so technically it was his to enjoy until they realized their mistake. If they were going to drag him out, he might as well have a little fun first, right?

Which was how he ended up bouncing on the mattress (after taking his shoes and socks off--he wasn't a  _ heathen _ ) until a telltale rapping at the door shocked him right off the edge.

The pain of landing flat on his back with a loud  _ bang  _ barely registered compared to the all-encompassing dismay that he hadn't gotten at least a few more minutes before they figured out they’d stuck a commoner in a king's chambers. Aldercapt had probably complained to someone. There was no way he'd last long in an average bedroom, whatever that might look like in Lucis, so he really shouldn't have been surprised.

Sighing, Prompto didn't bother picking himself up off the floor or lowering his leg from where it was still propped on the corner of the bed--he'd never put everything back to rights before they waltzed in to see him lying there in the tattered remnants of his enthusiasm anyway. All he could do now was wait for the inevitable.

Or so he thought.

There was nothing but dead silence on the other side of the door. Nobody barged in; nobody cried out. For a moment, Prompto wondered if perhaps the knocking had just been his guilty conscience playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d imagined things that weren’t there, although that was pretty typical when anyone could walk into the barracks without warning. Not having doors kinda sucked like that.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he attempted to untangle himself as silently as possible from the large fluffy comforter that he’d somehow managed to take down with him in his fall. It was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Well, this was super awkward--and that was before the rapping sound reached him again, this time followed by a voice.

“Do pardon the intrusion, but might I enter?”

Prompto exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He wasn't sure when he'd closed his eyes either, but he cracked one open to frown curiously at the door. They...were  _ asking _ if they could come in?

_ Oh, no... _

This was going to be even more awkward than he'd thought: they didn't know they'd gotten the rooms wrong! Prompto could tell from the accent that whoever was on the other side of the door wasn't a member of their retinue, which meant it had to be one of the retainers from the Citadel. Did they knock for  _ everyone _ or just the important people? There was no other reason they'd be asking to come in that he could think of--they would have just  _ done it _ if they knew he was inside. They were probably expecting Aldercapt to let them in with that slimy, superior tone of his. When they opened the door and got a load of Prompto, though...

Well, it was fun while it lasted. Couldn't stall forever, though.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Prompto tried not to dwell on the strangeness of announcing, "Come in!" as he finally kicked himself free of the blanket. There was no time for relief to set in, however, not when the door was opening and a familiar face peered down at him.

It was the prince’s chamberlain--Ignis, if he remembered correctly from his files. Whether he hadn’t noticed Prompto’s position or he was just being nice, he didn’t comment when he saw Prompto scrambling to his feet. He merely shut the door behind him while Prompto tried not to fidget under his gaze, fighting against the urge to snatch the blanket off the ground and arrange it neatly back on the bed. He had no doubt that Ignis would be expecting him to do as much before he escorted him to his actual room, or maybe the dungeon he’d be rotting in for daring to breathe near the emperor’s pillowcases.

“I merely came to see if you were settling in well.” Ignis spared a quick glance for the mattress. “However, if you would like a touch more privacy, the door  _ is  _ equipped with a lock.”

Well, now.  _ That _ wasn’t what Prompto had been expecting at all, although he didn’t miss the look of mild annoyance that the chamberlain clearly believed he had covered up. What could he say: Prompto had aggravated enough of his superiors in the past to notice the warning signs, no matter how fleeting. Thankfully, that hardly mattered at this point as it appeared he hadn’t arrived to drag him off.

_ Yet. _

“Have the stewards brought up your luggage?”

It took a moment for Prompto's brain to catch up enough for him to answer--it was still stuck on the whole  _ lock _ thing now that he was sure Ignis hadn’t come to catch him in the act of aggressive bed-jumping. He knew what they were in theory, but he'd never actually  _ had _ one. It was sort of useless when you roomed with about thirty other guys at a time and your commander could walk right in whenever he wanted. If they decided to lock or barricade the door, all hell would break loose. Prompto figured the empire wouldn't want to waste a good investment, especially after all the training they’d received; regardless, there was a part of him that wouldn't put it past them to burn the barracks down purely to make a point, either. 

Not that that had anything to do with Lucis or the guy standing in front of him, so he wouldn't mention it. Instead, he logged that information away and made a mental note to test the lock later. Loqi wouldn't dare set fire to the entire Citadel--he hoped. It should be a pretty safe place to give it a shot.

Just before his pause could enter the realm of  _ beyond awkward _ , he kicked the clingy sheet closer to the bed with a nervous chuckle. Luggage? Yeah, he had some...somewhere. At least, Loqi had mentioned something about throwing a bag of clothes onto the transport for him. It wouldn't really be proper to wander around Lucis in nothing but his underwear, after all, which left them little choice.

Still, he hadn't personally brought anything with him and had no clue what said  _ bag _ looked like. Come to think of it, strike that earlier thought--they  _ were  _ about to go full-on awkward.

"Uh..." Glancing around the room as if his luggage might pop out from under the bed or something, Prompto scratched the back of his neck and muttered, "I'm...not so sure? Maybe?"

To Ignis’s credit he appeared unbothered by the tension that Prompto felt taking over the room. Rather than standing there staring like  _ one _ of them happened to be doing, he took a brief moment to glance around before crossing the chamber with purpose. Stepping delicately over the mess of blankets Prompto had at least managed to shove into a slightly neater pile, the chamberlain opened a door on the far wall and peered inside.

“Ah, here you are.”

Prompto wandered over to see for himself, attempting to hold back his shock at the fact that there was  _ another _ room in here. This was just getting obscene. They couldn't  _ possibly _ fit any more. ...Actually, they probably could. At this rate, he would be completely unsurprised to find a trap door under the bed that led to an aquarium or an indoor petting zoo or something equally ridiculous (and  _ amazing _ ).

The chamber Ignis had revealed wasn't anywhere near as elaborate as the one he'd been systematically destroying for the last couple of minutes, though, and he had the briefest suspicion that it was his actual accommodation until he remembered the whole  _ you can lock the door _ part of the conversation. Still, could anyone blame him for forgetting when there were a ton of brand new, shiny uniforms staring him in the face?

“I would hope that you have something for tonight's festivities?” Ignis asked, also taking in the row of lavish Niflheim military uniforms, though not with nearly as much awe and fascination that had gripped Prompto.

He nodded mutely, too preoccupied with the idea that not only were these uniforms brand new, but there was more than one of them. For  _ him _ . He hardly ever got anything new in Gralea--to be given more than one was just as unthinkable as the door having a lock. Maybe this job was a total downer, but he couldn’t help thinking he’d scored big this time.

_ Maybe don’t mess it up by acting like a pleb, huh? _

Ignis cleared his throat, drawing Prompto’s attention back to him. “You must forgive me. We were not given your name upon your arrival. I am Prince Noctis’s chamberlain, Ignis. I thought it best to greet you personally and check that the accommodations were to your liking. As the prince’s personal esteemed guest, if you should need anything, do feel free to come to me.”

Prompto attempted to rearrange his features into a more confident expression as responded in kind, "Oh yeah, sure, got it. And the name's Prompto."

_ Wow _ , it felt weird to introduce himself for a change. Usually, in the rare instances where someone needed to differentiate between him and the rest of his likewise nameless, faceless comrades, Loqi would do that for him. Doing it on his own felt...empowering? Nah, not really the right word for it. He just thought it was cool to get to tell someone his name without having to resist the urge to roll his eyes at an underlying tone of distaste.

What struck him as even stranger was the idea of someone actually waiting on him like  _ he _ was some kind of prince. They realized he was just a grunt, right? A grunt who was still standing in the wrong room waiting to be caught, as a matter of fact. With Ignis going out of his way to be so hospitable, the thought suddenly occurred to Prompto that this  _ might _ be a test--maybe they were hoping he would go with the flow so they could cry treason or something. It really wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.

So, because he was too good a soldier and valued his continued existence for the time being, Prompto glanced around the room and continued, "Actually, I...uh...guess there  _ is _ something. It looks like you guys...gave me the wrong room?"

Confusion flickered across Ignis’s features, but his tone was even when he replied, “My apologies, Prompto. If this room is not suitable for you, we may have something bigger on a separate floor. It was my understanding, however, that you all wished to be housed in the same guest wing.” He frowned, looking around the room before adding, “Are there certain features you require that we can accommodate?”

Blinking, Prompto opened his mouth and tried to form words to no avail.  _ What?! _

He honestly hadn't thought his eyes could get any wider after everything he'd seen that day, but it looked like they were bound and determined to prove him wrong. It felt for a moment like they were about to fall out of his head, just like his jaw where it had dropped straight down towards the floor at the insinuation that he would be unhappy with this amazing, beautiful, insane,  _ not possibly his _ bedroom.

"No!  _ Noooo  _ no no no--dude, that's--I mean,  _ Ignis _ , it's--it's totally cool! It's great! Like,  _ beyond _ great! There's not even a word for how greatly... _ great _ this room is," he stumbled over himself to assure the prince's chamberlain.

The idea that this wasn't good enough was... _ wow _ . Who would think that? Well, okay, maybe the emperor or even Loqi would throw a mini fit that there weren't servants waiting in the closet to come in and do everything for them. That was literally the only thing he could think of that the room was missing--it was already equipped with far more than he ever could have dreamed of.

_ Must be nice, being royalty _ , he sighed internally. It didn't erase the fact that ruling a country had to be a bitch, but still, there were clearly some perks.

Perks that he really needed to reassure Ignis about if his first assumption was that Prompto would  _ ever _ be displeased with a place like  _ this _ .

"It's just, uh...super fancy?" He shrugged lamely. "I kinda figured this was maybe the emperor's room and, like, we got switched. Didn't want anyone getting in trouble for something so..." Trivial? Stupid? Brilliant? "...small."

_ That'll work. _

Prompto wasn’t sure he liked the look that Ignis was giving him the longer he spoke, especially not with the silence that now followed his confession. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that Ignis was reading his thoughts just by staring. Talk about unnerving.

Luckily, Prompto had a pretty good game face. He had not lasted this long in Niflheim by giving away all his intentions, after all. He didn’t like to brag (because it garnered attention, and that was the last thing he needed), but he had become a self-taught expert on keeping information in and himself out of trouble.

So, whatever Ignis had read from him, it couldn’t have been too vital to his mission here. His scrutinizing gaze fell away as he finally answered, “Well, I can assure you that no mistakes were made in the room assignments.”

Which left Prompto at a total loss. If this wasn’t the emperor’s bedchamber, then what  _ was  _ his room like? He understood that they were all gathered in the same wing, but Prompto couldn’t imagine how something grander than his own room could exist on this floor alone.

Ignis apparently wasn’t going to tell him, either. Instead, he motioned towards the door with a friendly (albeit detached) smile.

“I thought since we will all be spending a considerable amount of time together in the foreseeable future, you would like a small tour of the Citadel,” Ignis offered, shaking Prompto from his thoughts before his imagination took over the job of conjuring up a mental picture of Aldercapt’s suite. “I would be happy to accompany you down to the dining halls in time for tonight's banquet, as well, unless you had a prior arrangement with your commander.”

A few seconds passed where Prompto attempted to reconcile this chamber of the gods being his with the idea of having a  _ prior arrangement _ with Loqi. For one thing, if Ignis wanted to let him stay here, there was no way in hell Prompto would argue with him for less spectacular accommodations. For another, it was literally laughable to think that Loqi would want to be around him any longer than absolutely necessary. They'd already exhausted their share of quality time for one day--probably for the whole  _ month _ , really--and they hadn’t even gotten through their swanky dinner yet.

Masking a reluctant grimace at the idea of spending the evening keeping up appearances, Prompto plastered a smile on his face and answered, "Nope, my commander probably has other things to do right now, so that'll be great!"

Ugh, he was using that word an awful lot. Ignis probably thought he was some kind of hick, but then again, the guy was used to all this. For Prompto, it was mind-boggling that someone of his rank would be treated like he was some kind of diplomat deserving of luxury. He wouldn't complain, of course, but he still had reason to be a little tongue-tied regardless of how the prince's chamberlain judged him.

And he was definitely judging him, at least a little bit. Prompto didn’t miss the small looks that Ignis had given him when it came to a couple of his responses, although he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected as much. It only made sense that if he was sizing up the Lucians, they were doing the same as well. It probably didn’t help that the whole point of these negotiations was for Niflheim to make demands of them, which was why Prompto had made it his goal to be as unassuming as possible.

The rest of the envoys might be dead set on hampering his efforts, but Prompto had to assume he was doing pretty okay so far.

And if he was going to be staying here awhile, then a tour of the Citadel would be a nice start on the road to adjusting. Of course, it might not even be necessary: he doubted it could be anywhere near as confusing as Zegnautus. That place was a maze inside a maze inside  _ another _ maze; he personally wondered whether they'd just hired so many architects that they couldn't keep things straight or if it was  _ designed _ to be so insane purely for bragging rights. Knowing the emperor, it was probably the latter. By comparison, the Citadel seemed pretty straightforward so far, and exploring it was a little like telling him he could walk around Gralea on his own--tantalizing.

Wandering the enemy castle, however, would probably require a clean uniform. He didn't want to look like a total slob opposite the Lucian contingent, and Ignis was already being so patient with him that he didn't have the heart to make the guy bring him all the way up here again just so they could go right back down to dinner. He'd probably have his hands full with the prince as it was.

"Maybe, just...let me change first," Prompto qualified with an apologetic grin. If he'd been on the ball, he could have found the closet and changed before the chamberlain arrived instead of making him wait all because he had to jump on the bed.

_...Worth it. _

And not something he could change, so why worry?

Choosing an outfit was pointless when they were all the same, so Prompto simply grabbed the first hanger on the right (because the closet was big enough to have racks on two whole sides  _ and _ the back!) and tossed it on the mess of sheets he’d left earlier. At the rate he was going, he thought as he perfunctorily removed his jacket and began to pull his black turtleneck over his head, he would only have to double up on outfits instead of wearing them for three days straight.  _ That _ would be a welcome change.

“Sorry. It’ll just be a second!”

“Yes, that quite al--”

Prompto turned as Ignis trailed off mid-sentence. The chamberlain was no longer looking in his direction and appeared to be engrossed in his phone, doing everything possible to avoid eye contact. Frowning, Prompto dropped the turtleneck over his torso again, hesitant to ask Ignis what was wrong. Clearly, he’d done something to cause him to react in such a manner--the question was  _ what _ .

“If you would like some privacy,” Ignis explained, keeping his eyes on his phone as he spoke, “your bathroom also serves as a changing room. There is a basket in which to place your used clothing for cleaning.”

Wait. Was  _ that  _ what this was all about? Prompto found the intensity with which Ignis was staring at his phone almost comical, especially now that he knew the reason. A moment after he opened his mouth to ask why he would waste time using a changing room--whatever that was--he snapped it shut, thinking better of that decision. Was it a Lucian thing to use a separate room to switch clothes or just an Ignis thing? And he'd used that word again-- _ privacy _ \--like it was something Prompto should expect instead of a gift they'd decided to offer him.

There was no such thing as privacy or modesty or  _ solitude _ when you lived with a couple dozen other people. You changed in front of each other, slept in front of each other, relieved yourself in front of each other--there was a pattern that you got used to pretty quick if you were going to survive.

Ignis was accustomed to serving a prince, though, so he probably hadn't been exposed to that kind of thing. Prince Noctis's Shield would likely understand a little better.

Wincing at the thought of that towering behemoth and his freaky haircut, Prompto grabbed his clean uniform from the bed and muttered a quick apology before he darted into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

He was nervously straightening and re-adjusting his collar when he emerged exactly two minutes later (he'd counted), in fresh clothes and longing to try that amazing shower. The very last thing he needed was to offend the prince's chamberlain when the latter was one of two keys to completing his mission. Given that he was one of the people who spent the most time around his target, gaining Ignis's trust was imperative to Prompto's success. Right now, with his ignorance and misunderstandings and narrowly avoided nudity, he figured he wasn't doing such a hot job in that department.

"Sorry about that," he apologized again, his eyes on his hands instead of his companion, "and for taking so long. But, uh...ready!"

Apparently it had been his public changing that rattled Ignis, because the chamberlain pocketed his phone and resumed his calm façade as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired. Man, Lucians sure were uppity. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely fair. Loqi probably would have acted in a similar but more violent manner if Prompto had started tossing clothes around in front of him. Maybe it was just a privileged-people sort of thing?

“It’s quite alright,” Ignis assured him. “We have plenty of time before the banquet. His Majesty presumed that your dear emperor needed an adequate nap.”

Prompto bit back a grin at the admittedly petty insult leveled at Aldercapt’s age. It wasn’t as if Ignis was wrong in his assertion: the emperor had grown increasingly cranky the closer they got to Insomnia, although that probably didn’t have as much to do with how old he was as the simple fact that he was an asshole. Throw that in with the fact that they had to take the stairs on their way to the audience chamber and all the vitriol that he’d spewed at King Regis, and Prompto wouldn’t be surprised if Emperor Aldercapt didn’t have enough energy to at least bitch about the accommodations before falling asleep.

He couldn’t exactly say that, though, so Prompto simply nodded in agreement and trailed behind Ignis as the latter motioned him through the door.

Following his lead, Prompto took it upon himself to pay close attention to where they were going and how they got there. He had been too busy shaking off his initial nerves from meeting with Lucian royalty before, so he hadn’t been nearly as focused and missed more than he cared to admit.

Ignis stopped them in front of the guest wing’s elevator, pressing the button to take them below as he explained, “You have full access to the lower level of the Citadel. From nine in the morning until six in the evening, so does the entirety of the city. Thus, I would suggest avoiding venturing down there during those intervals.”

Prompto figured he knew what that meant:  _ the Lucians don’t want you here, so do us a favor and don’t let them see you _ . He had caught enough of a glimpse at the protestors outside the Citadel gates to know they weren’t exactly thrilled with Niflheim’s arrival. That was no different than back in Gralea, though, not really. Just about everyone wanted the troopers to stay out of sight unless they needed them for something.

“The kitchen is always open, but if you should require anything, you need only call and it will be brought to you,” Ignis continued until the doors to the elevator opened onto a floor Prompto hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t too different from the others he’d been on, but the light was different--brighter.

“Right this way,” Ignis directed him, heading towards an outdoor garden while Prompto hurried to follow suit.

He was so busy absorbing everything Ignis told him that he didn't bother commenting on everything he heard. Hopefully the prince's chamberlain wouldn't mind; it was just that there was so  _ much _ to focus on that words escaped him. It was surprising enough that the Citadel allowed civilians in at all, but to offer their enemies free rein in certain parts of the building? That sounded like a mistake waiting to happen.

Zegnautus Keep never opened its doors to anyone who wasn't designated necessary personnel. The emperor was a given, as was that oddball chancellor and their kooky arms developer. Other than them, however, it was just a constant flow of soldiers and scientists and the unfortunate victims of the latter’s experiments. There were no gilded elevators waiting to take you down to greet the public; there was no direct service from the kitchens to your room. (For one thing, you didn't have a room. For another, that was  _ so cool _ !)

There were definitely no breathtaking gardens full of bright light and a plethora of colors as far as the eye could see. Prompto shuffled a few steps ahead, gaping widely as he tried to memorize every single detail.

"This...is...so...awesome! There's so much... _ green _ !" It wasn't that they didn't see trees in Gralea, of course--they were just potted plastic plants instead of what he could only surmise from the smell were the real deal. Most of the city had been paved over, so his view outside the Keep during his security rotations usually consisted of concrete and the towering metal buildings that tended to blot out the sun. Everything else was...snow. Just snow. Sometimes there would be a dot of red in it from the last battle they had with the Kingsglaive, but otherwise, Niflheim was white all the way to the horizon. According to one of the other guys in his unit, that had a lot to do with how close they were to the Glacian's resting spot. Worthy memorial or not, it got old to look at.

Flying over Insomnia, Prompto hadn't gotten a chance to see whether it was the same. If the state of this garden was any indication, he seriously doubted it.

"I can _ not _ believe this is a thing." Whirling around, Prompto excitedly inquired, "And you can come here anytime you want?!"

“I do suppose we have a more temperate climate than you're used to. I’m afraid snow in these parts is a bit of an oddity,” Ignis noted with a thoughtful hum as he nodded in response to Prompto’s question. “You may come here as you see fit, as well. There are other gardens and parks outside the Citadel that I’m sure His Highness would not be opposed to visiting as part of your education. Should you be interested,” he added, scanning Prompto’s attire once more. “However, I would suggest that if we were to do so, it would be wise to obtain for you some less…noticeable garments.”

Without further elaboration on his dig at Prompto’s garments, Ignis pointed down one of the pathways and remarked, “This one does go on for quite a ways, including a small fountain and fish pond near the back.”

The reminder about the whole  _ education _ pretense brought Prompto up short before he had a chance to make a bigger idiot out of himself over the idea of a water feature. It was a  _ really _ good thing that that was their story, because he had a feeling he would need to fall back on it a lot if he kept finding out things like this were standard in Lucis. It was just so unreal.

The only bit of Ignis's spiel that made a lick of sense to him was the concern over his outfit causing a scene. Why would Ignis care about that, though? They weren't here to be friendly--it was a hostile takeover! But here he was, acting like Prompto was within spitting distance of his prince's importance again.

_ He probably just doesn't want to tick off the emperor by treating his envoy badly. Soon as they're gone, it's back to normal. _

There was nothing wrong with enjoying the service for now, though, right? He may as well make as much headway into a relationship with these people as he could while it would be at least a little simpler.

So, nodding slowly, Prompto decided to try his luck and started down the path with tentative steps. It wasn't his castle, so he figured it was best not to get too ahead of himself if Ignis thought they should head somewhere else--but damn, he wanted to see the water!

"So...gardens inside, parks outside. Fountains and fishing ponds and flowers and all that," he mused, letting his fingers brush a bit of shrubbery hanging low beside the path. "Doesn't it get kinda...distracting?"

Maybe that was yet another stupid question, but Prompto couldn't help asking regardless. In part, he hoped that it would disarm Ignis enough to let him wander freely; his curiosity was still genuine, though. In Gralea, pretty stuff was considered a useless, silly frivolity that would just make you lazy. If half of Insomnia reveled in things like that as much as it seemed with their gardens and fancy rooms, it was no wonder they'd lost the war.

“Distracting?” Ignis echoed, seeming to mull the question over. Apparently that wasn’t the question the chamberlain had been expecting, although that might have been his own fault. As far as Prompto could tell, he and Ignis were the only people in the garden at the moment, meaning that everyone else in the Citadel obviously had more pressing business elsewhere.

“I suppose it would be if you had never seen it before,” Ignis replied, both confirming and negating Prompto’s suspicions. “Though it seems that once you become accustomed to it, you tend to forget its charms.”

With that said, Ignis started further down the track and redirected the subject to something less potentially insulting: “The pond is this way if you’re interested. Not many garden distractions in Gralea, I take it?”

"You can say that again," Prompto chuckled after a fraction of a second. Loqi probably wouldn't want him giving away much about Niflheim, but you had to give a little to get anything in return, especially when dealing with people who had every reason  _ not _ to trust you. Plus, they were just talking about the weather and trees, something Lucis could easily determine by sending someone outside and telling them not to blink.

"Gralea's more of a"--he paused a moment, snapping his fingers when he remembered the phrase the chancellor had used once-- "concrete jungle. Trees and stuff just get in the way."

Prompto didn't bother specifying what it got in the way  _ of _ , figuring Ignis was probably smart enough to guess all on his own. Or maybe it wouldn't really be a  _ guess _ \--it was no secret to anyone what the empire cared most about. That frequently meant cutting down the nature to make room for bigger, more mechanical marvels.

Still, there was something to be said for the green stuff. And apparently the blue stuff, too.

" _ Wow _ ," gasped Prompto. He jogged the last bit of distance between Ignis and a sizable pond to the side of the walkway. It was the biggest body of water he'd seen up close since that puddle on the side of the road when they'd left the Keep. And that wasn't all... "There are fish in here!"

Ignis responded with a tentative smile in amusement, nodding at his observation. He didn’t share Prompto’s enthusiasm, though, and he almost found himself regretting that he’d pointed it out like an idiot.  _ Almost _ . There was something to be said for lulling your enemy into a false sense of security. Ignis might not have been Prompto’s target, but if he had any hopes of getting near the prince, he’d first have to convince the prince’s stuffy babysitter that he was mostly harmless.

Which appeared to be working, if he was reading the terrain right.

“There is a much larger aquarium within the city, if you care to see. It may take some convincing, but I’m certain His Highness could be persuaded to go. For educational purposes.” He adjusted his glasses, sparing a quick gaze for the pond before his eyes were back on Prompto. “Surely, though, you must have far grander forms of entertainment in Gralea.”

Prompto didn’t register the question at first, too busy watching the bustling activity beneath the surface of the water. He wasn't entirely sure what aquariums were like in Lucis (Gralea’s were full of the deadliest sea creatures they could possibly find, but that was no surprise); if they even slightly compared to the pond, he was already game. The way the fish swam around in innocent circles, not even attempting to eat one another, was mesmerizing to the point where he couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed by his own reaction. Animals weren't welcome in the Keep; anything other than the guard dogs just got in the way. The thought of Loqi's face if they snuck a pet in was actually comical--or it would have been until he remembered that his commander would probably make whoever tried scrub toilets for a month.  _ And _ kill the animal. Totally not worth it.

So absorbed was he with the glittering diamonds that sparkled back at him from the water and the shimmer of a fish's scales that he almost answered Ignis honestly--almost, but not quite.

"E-Entertainment?" he stuttered incredulously before he caught himself and pasted a carefully blank expression on his face. Now they were treading into territory Loqi and the emperor would caution him against discussing. Life inside Zegnautus was strictly confidential, not for the knowledge of their own people let alone an enemy chamberlain. The guy was pretty cool and definitely more welcoming than Prompto would have expected, but he wasn't going to kid himself: he was still very much a threat to Prompto's mission. Spilling small, seemingly trivial information about Niflheim might not be disastrous in itself; the lackadaisical attitude it would foster, however,  _ might _ .

So, clearing his throat, Prompto shrugged a shoulder and replied, "Oh, y'know, we've got our free time to do whatever."

Two lies in one sentence--he would have earned major brownie points in espionage and infiltration if anyone actually gave a shit. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t dealing with a run-of-the-mill soldier like most of the people he interacted with.

Ignis did not appear bothered by Prompto’s answer,though, which came as a bit of a relief. Perhaps he really hadn’t been digging for information and was just making polite small talk. Either way, Prompto figured he dodged a bullet there.

“Well,” Ignis remarked, clearing his throat and attempting to push back against the silence that had settled in following Prompto’s answer, “if there is an activity you would like to indulge in, please feel free to ask.”

Ignis gaze turned back to the pond, now watching the fish instead of Prompto as he continued, “I’m afraid your emperor’s intentions for you weren’t entirely clear. As such, I ask that you forgive our current disorganized state in those regards. I assure you, we shall have it figured out soon enough and be able to accommodate.”

_ Man, I hope not _ , mused Prompto silently.

This wasn't really the way he'd expected the conversation to go, and he was already regretting whatever slip-up he'd made to get them here. Maybe this was why Loqi usually spoke for him--if he pushed Ignis further, he'd probably have the whole plot worked out by lunch tomorrow. Not that the guy wasn't intelligent enough to pull it off sooner, if being the prince's chamberlain meant anything at all. Prompto didn't need to give him reasons to go digging, though.

Shrugging back into his less suspicious behavior, he hoped it was more disarming when he casually remarked, "Pretty sure he's not too picky. Mostly he wanted to learn a little about what he's getting into with everything in the treaty. He probably wouldn't care if you just taught me some stupid folk dance-- _ not _ that you should do that," he hastened to add, "because nobody wants to see me try to dance, but...you get it."

Only half a lie this time, so he was on a roll. The emperor truly  _ didn't _ care what he learned as long as he did so with the prince bleeding out on the floor. If he stuck to the story they'd rehearsed ad nauseam before leaving Gralea, there was no reason for Prince Noctis’s chamberlain to ever know that.

He just had to hope Ignis bought his response. After all, the Lucians couldn’t be stupid enough to think that Prompto had been brought along for them to babysit. They already knew firsthand that the empire was calculating and the emperor himself was extremely picky. In fact, Prompto had heard before they left the Keep that Aldercapt had sent specific instructions on how things should be set up for his arrival, right down to the thread count he wanted in his sheets. No, the Lucians would surely dig to find out Prompto’s true purpose here. He just had to keep them away from any real answers long enough to get his job done.

Hopefully, with all the imperial envoys present, they would focus more on their king and Crystal than the sheltered prince.

“I’m sure we can manage something more than a dance,” Ignis replied mildly, giving Prompto virtually nothing to go on with regards to how his response had been received.

_ Great... _

As if sensing the tension in the room, a small black and white cat wandered nearby before he could continue. The creature stretched out and then turned its attention to the two of them, mewling softly.

Where Prompto could only stare in wonder, Ignis sighed, clearly annoyed with the emergence of the cat. “I suppose I forgot to mention that the gardens play host to a few of Insomnia’s strays.”

"That's, uh...cool?"

He couldn't think of anything else to say. He wasn't stupid--he knew what a cat was--but it was still the first time he'd seen one in person. Dogs were by no means in short supply at the Keep, though. They were big, they were mean, they were ugly--so, basically Loqi on any given Tuesday. If cats were anything like them, then it would be better to keep his distance.

The way Ignis made it sound, however, it seemed that that wasn't the case. If it were, he'd probably have removed Prompto from the garden just to avoid an international incident. Well, that or Ignis would have left him to be eaten. It was a possibility, albeit an unlikely one.

That thought gave Prompto the courage to shuffle forward a few steps, holding out a finger and hiding a wince when the cat sniffed at it calmly.

"G-Good kitty," he tried to soothe it. His voice totally didn't crack  _ at all _ . "Niiiice kitty."

For a second, it looked like he'd be right: the cat gave him a few cursory snuffles before bumping her head into his palm. By the time it progressed to the belly scratching stage, which was way more enjoyable than he ever would have thought possible, Prompto was about to tell Ignis that he should give the little guys a break.

True to form, that was when the sneaky monster slashed the inside of his forearm with an adorable squeal.

"Ow! H-Hey!"

It was too late: the cat had already scrambled back to its feet and dashed into the bushes.

Shooting a betrayed glance at Ignis, Prompto rubbed at his superficial injury as he nervously inquired, "You, uh...don't think they've got anything... _ catching _ , right?"

Clearly the little daemon kitten’s temperament was why Ignis had been so aggravated with the cat’s presence in the first place. Prompto figured he had a good reason to be--who knew what kind of diseases the little beast was carrying?

“I imagine you’ll be fine,” Ignis responded lightly, squashing any small hope of sympathy Prompto might have been holding out for. “I must say, though, I don’t believe they’ve ever lashed out at His Highness in such a manner. Perhaps you should try your luck with dogs instead.”

 

***

Noctis bent down to retrieve the jar of hair gel that Gladio had chucked at his head with a scowl. Leave it to his Shield: no matter how rough things got, Gladio would endeavor to maintain a certain level of  _ meathead _ all the same. Noctis might have found such a fact comforting if it wasn’t so infuriating.

"Walk it off, sissy," Gladio grumbled as he stalked into the bathroom, flipping the lock behind him with a satisfying click.

Admittedly, there really wasn’t any reason for Gladio to be on the receiving end of his ire, petulant hair product slinging notwithstanding. After all, his Shield was just doing his best to keep him from getting one of Ignis’s lectures by pressuring him to get a move on, even forgoing time in the training room to make sure he was presentable for the occasion. That didn’t mean they hadn’t taken a few minutes for the essentials first, though. Unsurprising as it was, Gladio had been incredibly accommodating to Noctis’s bitching session--the one where he spent over an hour comparing the emperor to various rotting vegetables. All things considered, he supposed he couldn’t get too mad about having his hair gel tossed at his head in an effort to make him move faster: if Gladio was currently playing the role of chamberlain in Ignis’s stead, then he, too, would be the one hearing it if Noctis turned up late appearing anything less than princely.

The fact that Noctis was not at all looking forward to tonight didn’t matter in the slightest.

"My guess is this dinner'll be a real treat," Gladio joked, his voice carrying from beyond the door. "Least they're on the other side of the Citadel for now. Not like we've all gotta live together for the next few days."

Noctis snorted. What Gladio didn't say was that someone would have ended up dead in that situation, and if his Shield had it his way, then it sure as hell wasn't going to be him or any other Lucians.

Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that; his father was too smart to try something so optimistic in light of their present company. Besides, Noctis figured he had enough on his plate to worry about as it was without concerning himself with whoever Gladio may or may not throttle at dinner. He needed to be focused on the important task his father had set to him: his dad was trusting him to get information out of this Niff soldier, and since they’d parted ways earlier, he had become consumed with how he was going to pull that off.

So far? Still no ideas. He’d have to work on that.

“Yeah, but we probably  _ are  _ going to be stuck with that one guy a lot,” Noctis grumbled back, fumbling with the lid to his hair gel. He should have offered some of it to Gladio--he could stand to style that mullet of his a little bit for such an important dinner.

_ Yeah, as if that’ll happen. _

“What do you think we should do with him?” Noctis asked from the bathroom as he finished styling his hair and changed from one perfectly acceptable outfit into another. Why it would be unseemly for him to wear the same thing he had worn to greet this pompous party of assholes was beyond him. It wasn’t as if any of them would notice he was in an entirely different shirt and jacket.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea to drop 'im off a cliff," muttered Gladio, an idea that lifted Noctis’s spirits a bit at the mental image it painted. It was a joke, of course--Ignis would never let them even if Gladio were serious--but it admittedly wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen.

But then again, neither was hosting this Niff, especially if he could help his dad out in the process. He might have hated the notion, but Noctis was well aware of the finer points of diplomacy. He knew there were appearances to be maintained regardless of how you felt on a personal level, which was why he wiped the look of pure annoyance off his face before he stepped out of the bathroom a few moments later, fixing the front strands of his hair.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he scoffed with a skeptical glance at Gladio. If he showed up to some pretentious dinner in Crownsguard fatigues--and  _ dirty  _ ones, at that--Ignis was likely to murder them both.

"Not a chance," snorted Gladio, grabbing a garment bag off the back of the closet door and shoving past Noctis into the bathroom. "Iggy's got everything covered, as usual."

_ What a surprise. _

In spite of the reassuring thought that his friend and chamberlain was more competent than the both of them put together, Noctis peered into his closet while Gladio changed, trying to determine if there were any more of his Shield’s outfits stashed in there. As the rest of his wardrobe seemed to lack anything large and sleeveless, he decided to take that as a  _ no _ . Noctis knew that he hadn’t lived here in a while and that having Gladio around all the time was going to be the new norm, but that didn’t mean he wanted him just moving into his closet.

Even so, he should have known Ignis would never allow Gladio to show up looking as unkempt as he normally did. He wasn't the royal chamberlain for nothing: Noctis was impressed that Ignis had even managed to find a suit that would fit. It didn’t look like it was the most comfortable thing in the world, but dinner would only last a few hours, so Gladio would be able to tough it out.

Actually, it would probably be  _ Noctis _ who would have a lot to put up with, from the looks of things. When Gladio emerged, he straightened his jacket over its matching black shirt (no tie, because Ignis wasn't an idiot) and leveled Noctis with a rakish grin. "Too bad there won't be any girls worth chatting up there, huh?"

Huffing a humorless laugh, Noctis rolled his eyes. If there were any girls  _ worth chatting up _ at this banquet, then Gladio would be sure to find them. Still, he glanced over at his Shield, biting back the urge to say something smart in response. He was currently surrounded by enemies in his own home; now was not the time to be poking fun at his allies.

“Probably be impressed that we managed to get a miniature behemoth in a suit for the occasion.”

Well, damn. So much for that idea. Fortunately, it wasn’t like Gladio could get mad and stalk out. His dad had told him to make friends with the Niff guy; Gladio was  _ obligated  _ to put up with his crap, not that he always bowed to those obligations. Just to be safe, Noctis quickly followed the comment with his own cheeky grin to show he meant nothing by it, settling into one of his armchairs and tugging at the tie around his neck apprehensively.

“Dad wants me to see if I can get any information outta the guy,” he blurted out without preamble. All things considered, he figured it was best to let Gladio in on what he and his father had discussed. After all, he would need Gladio’s help to pull it off, and as his Shield, Gladio had every right to be let in on his plans.

Not that it would surprise Noctis if Gladio was already aware of what his dad was up to. Both of their fathers spent their days with strategists and councils that made some of the most important decisions in Lucis; it only made sense that they would already be a step ahead of the bullshit brigade they were currently hosting.

As he expected, Gladio didn’t rail against the idea as if it was some big surprise. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and murmured, “Figured as much.”

Noctis glanced up at him, hoping he would provide more input on the matter than  _ that _ . Something other than  _ beat it out of him _ would have worked, too, but he wasn’t being picky at this point.

“You think commando doofus knows anything?” he prodded pointedly, grimacing an instant later. If they were going to make this work, he really needed to keep the sarcastic comments to a minimum. For now, Noctis was merely grateful that Ignis was currently handling that pitiful excuse for a soldier: no matter how smart he thought he was, he'd be no match for their resident  _ encyclopedia-slash-mothering-handbook _ . A sentiment that Gladio echoed, albeit slightly less sardonically.

"My guess? Iggy's already working on finding out. He might not know a whole lot, but every little bit counts. Anything that gives us an edge going into the negotiations is worth the hassle."

The words clearly left a bitter taste in Gladio’s mouth, but luckily he knew there were times for blind aggression and times for unfortunate acceptance of a bad hand. For the time being, they'd have to deal with the latter.

"You think you got what it takes to wheedle it outta him?" Gladio teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, but Noctis appreciated it nonetheless.

Not that that stopped him from making a strangled noise to let Gladio know just what he thought of his question.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered, finally fixing his tie. “And if all else fails, you can just beat it out of him.”

Gladio’s face lit up with an inordinate amount of glee, and Noctis rolled his eyes as he stood up, scuffing his shoe against the floor. He was  _ not  _ looking forward to a whole evening of pretending that peace and unity were even part of the empire’s agenda. In fact, he would have very much liked it if Gladio decided to say  _ screw the fancy-pants party, we’re getting burgers _ .

_ Your father will be there, _ he reminded himself. There was no way he would make him go at this alone, not even for a whole plate of fries that definitely wouldn’t be on the menu tonight. Noctis wouldn’t be alone either: he had Ignis and Gladio, which was two more friends than he considered himself worthy of having.

Ignis was already at the other end of the Citadel laying the groundwork for him, and Gladio would be doing everything he could to protect him during the long game they’d be playing. The thought made Noctis frown--he didn’t think he’d ever truly be able to repay the debt he owed them.

He was sure going to try, though.

Opening his arms, he submitted himself to Gladio’s appraisal. “What do you think? Specs-approved?”

Noctis tried not to look to apprehensive as Gladio surveyed him with a critical eye. Yeah, he was aware that it wasn't often that he decided to look the part (see: that Ignis  _ made him _ ), but when he did, he had hope that he pulled it off well enough.

This time, it was apparently enough. After a moment, Gladio shrugged carelessly and assured him, "He'll be the happiest person at this damn shit show."

Noctis seriously doubted that, but out of the three of them, he at least had the best chance. After all, his job was done, and impressively so. The rest of them were busy scrambling to do the same.

_ Guess we’d better get on that. _

As if reading his mind, Gladio cleared his throat, jerking his head towards the hallway.

"Speaking of, it's about time we paid him a visit. Don't feel like getting chewed out for only being  _ ten _ minutes early." Gladio grinned as he made to open the door with a sweeping and sarcastic bow. "After Your Highness."

 

***

Regis knew that after their meeting with the envoys, his Shield wanted nothing more than to whisk him away to the safety of his quarters for some much needed rest. In fact, he counted himself most fortunate that Clarus was so understanding of the fact that his time spent with Noctis was limited and had allowed him that brief moment to lift his spirits. Now he could head to the impending banquet with renewed vigor.

It was a boost that he discovered he required far more than he’d anticipated. No true rest had come after retiring to his chambers: Regis’s thoughts were plagued with the increasingly unfortunate situation they found themselves in. He thought it bad enough that the vipers were in their city, but to put one of them in direct contact with his own son was all but unbearable.

Seeming to sense his thoughts, Clarus nodded towards him with a wry grin. “It is good that the prince has returned to stay at the Citadel. Otherwise, we would have no caretaker for their esteemed soldier.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Regis replied with equal disdain, “Fortunate indeed. I have no doubt the emperor is pleased to have been accommodated so thoroughly.”

That was quite the understatement: despite minimal rebellions, such as hosting Niflheim’s envoys in a lesser audience chamber, Regis had been clear that no expense was to be spared in ensuring their unwanted guests’ comfort. When the wolves were thousands of miles away, it was rather a different matter; there was little need to engage in these cautious, formal games. Now, however, the enemy was underfoot, a fox in the proverbial henhouse. Lucis was not in a position to antagonize them with childish insolence. No, much as he might wish otherwise, they were obligated to operate at Aldercapt’s bidding.

If only he hadn’t been so keen on dragging Noctis into the middle of whatever scheme he had constructed--and it  _ was _ a scheme, of that he had no doubt. The emperor did nothing without some sort of gain awaiting him at the end of his endeavors. That thought in conjunction with Aldercapt’s clear preference for Noctis’s involvement was more than mildly discomforting.

“It makes me uneasy to allow their dogsbody within such close proximity to Noctis,” Regis admitted as he absently surveyed the outfit his chamberlain had laid out for him. “Whatever his excuses, I fear that a more nefarious purpose may be at the heart of this arrangement.”

“Perhaps he believes that Prince Noctis knows extensive secrets within Insomnia. A more likely possibility, however, is that he knows it will bother you to have one of his own acting as an unwanted shadow,” observed Clarus sympathetically. “I would say the emperor is determined to divide your attention and shake your resolve. You must trust that Noctis will handle his battles as you focus on yours. After all, he does have a rather excellent support system.”

Regis knew that Clarus spoke of his own son and smiled. If anything, Gladiolus would keep a careful eye on Noctis should anything appear amiss--just as Clarus would continue to do for Regis.

“I have no doubt of that.”

“Rest assured: if there is a plot that involves the prince, we shall uncover it.”

Regis hummed but didn’t answer, and the sound of his cane against the marble floors was all that broke the silence as he carried the raiment to his changing room. If it was indeed the emperor’s intent to divide his attention, then his plot had been successful. He knew that Clarus was right: Noctis was more than capable of managing himself even in the face of this pervasive, inescapable threat. Even so, he was Regis’s  _ son _ , and there would always be a part of him that could see Noctis only as a little boy-- _ his _ little boy. He wanted nothing more than to seal his child away from their enemies and barricade the door so that they might never find him.

What he wanted had never been enough, though. It never would.

Such was the burden of ruling.

So, when the door was closed behind him, Regis paused and nodded resolutely to himself. He trusted his own Shield implicitly and without question. That did not mean that Regis was unwilling to take some added, perhaps unnecessary precautions.

“Gladiolus will be at Noctis’s side consistently for the duration of the negotiations,” he ordered through the door, raising his voice so that his friend and confidant would hear him clearly. “Wheresoever he should go, his Shield must both know and accompany him. Capable though my son may be, I will not risk his safety, even in pursuit of unlocking Emperor Aldercapt’s secrets. See it done.”

Whatever this dinner and the subsequent proceedings would bring, Regis’s goal had never been clearer: to protect his kingdom if he could, but to see his son through at all costs.

“I would not have it any other way,” Clarus responded without fail, adding dryly, “and I shall see to it that it is the same for you.”

Chuckling, Regis shook his head and murmured, “I find myself utterly unsurprised.”

“I will speak to Gladiolus this evening and be sure that he knows what is expected of him during their stay,” Clarus continued reassuringly, either not having heard or ignoring his jest.

It was a small comfort to Regis, but he would take it all the same. His oldest friend was aware of his misgivings, yes, but he was perhaps the only person who knew without a doubt that no matter how old Noctis grew or how capable he proved himself to be, Regis would continue to view him as the vulnerable eight-year-old he had once been. He would continue to see the little boy who had somehow managed to survive when the shadows came for him.

And he had good reason. This time, the daemons were sharing their roof and were far more clever.

“I assume that Prince Noctis has settled in well?” Clarus suddenly asked, steering them to what he likely deemed to be a safer subject. Regis smiled to hear it.

“Whatever reservations he may have, he has been kind enough to not give them voice. Pity for an old man must stay his tongue.”

Older in appearance than in years, of course, but it ultimately amounted to the same thing. As Regis divested himself of his earlier attire, he was reminded that time and the Crystal had not been kind. His knees ached as he struggled to lift them into a set of much finer trousers; he could hear his joints popping when he shrugged his ceremonial golden ornamentation over his mantle. Anywhere he went, he was forever accompanied by the incessant tapping of his cane and clanking of his leg brace. Clarus was five years his senior, yet in aesthetics Regis had no doubt he would be mistaken for the older of two.

Someday, perhaps very soon, there would be no place for him here. He would be too weak to maintain the Wall and rule his kingdom, the Crystal having leeched from him all that he had to offer. On that day, his child would begin the same gradual, premature decline that he had been subjected to when his own father passed. If Noctis was unhappy at the prospect of coming home, Regis was more grateful than words could describe that he was not making it obvious. As time flowed steadily towards the end of his reign, all he wanted in his final years was to spend as much of them with his son as possible without the shadow of their fates casting gloom upon their interactions.

Tonight would be the beginning of their partnership, and Regis could not deny that he had long awaited this day. On this day, everything would change.

Stepping back out in his formal attire, Regis took a deep breath and mustered a smile for his Shield--his friend, his brother in all the ways that mattered. Yes, everything would change, but that would ever remain the same.

“Shall we venture once more into the fray, my old friend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For more from each of us, please check out our individual pages at [roguehearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted) and [The_Asset6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6).
> 
> For updates on our stories, together or separate, feel free to follow us on Tumblr at wildrogueheart.tumblr.com and theasset6.tumblr.com


	3. A Cold Reception

Prompto had thought that, given all the time it had taken for Ignis to show him the gardens, Prince Noctis and his Shield would have arrived at cocktail hour before them. After all, his fellow envoys were the guests of honor. Weren’t the Lucians supposed to be there to welcome them or something like that?

Well, that was what he’d _thought_ , anyway. Then again, royalty was allowed to do whatever they wanted; for all he knew, they’d taken some time to blow off steam beforehand. If that were the case, though, they would be lucky if they made it down here in time to eat.  

With that thought in mind, he glanced at Ignis to see the latter eyeing his phone in distaste. Prompto knew that look: it was the same one he usually wore when Loqi told him to do something he definitely didn’t want to. If Ignis was anything like him, then he had probably received some orders from on high that he wasn’t too pleased about--from the prince, if Prompto was right about the chain of command around here. By the time he tucked his phone back into his breast pocket, however, Ignis appeared at ease once again. The guy was one hell of a professional, that was for sure.

Of course, the environment definitely made that a little easier than Prompto figured it would have been if they were all gathering in Gralea for this occasion. While the empire’s colors were white and red, he was surprised to find that the blacks and golds of the Lucians’ decorations seemed to make things a lot brighter. It had that _regal_ look that the emperor always went for, only back in Niflheim, there was an underlying sense of unease that made it impossible to relax. That wasn’t much of a surprise, given the fact that any event worth hosting was usually in connection with whatever conquest they were about to make or nation they were about to exploit, though.

Here, on the other hand, Prompto would have thought the Lucians actually believed this was something worth celebrating. The strings of lights accenting the high ceilings and the large open windows ushering in the twinkling lights of Insomnia’s skyline made the room appear far from solemn. As such, the doors to the surrounding balconies had been left open, probably so they could hang out and admire the view before dinner. All in all, the chamber was amazing, the landscape outside phenomenal, and the food...

The _food_ .  
  
There was so _much_ of it, yet what struck Prompto wasn't the quantity--it was the _quality_ . It all looked so much more appetizing than the protein-infused, nutrient-rich meal bars they were given back home. Those had no flavor whatsoever; you usually had to choke them down before you could think too hard about what you were eating. It wasn’t a matter of enjoying your meal, just like no one went to the effort of making it look any more appealing than hunger made it seem. The Lucians’ offerings had such a pleasant aroma by comparison that it was all Prompto could do not to follow the people in fancy suits around with his nose in the dishes they carried.  
  
_Maybe later._  
  
Or maybe not. It was already difficult to tell what would be for him and what would be reserved for the beautiful people. Those skinny glasses of bubbly yellow juice? Definitely not for him. He doubted they would let him have any of the fancier items, like the carved rose-things or funny reddish mush on little crackers, but there had to be stuff he could eat somewhere around here. Maybe they just didn’t want to roll his food out so it didn’t ruin the atmosphere? That was probably it. He supposed it was up to the Lucians to decide whether he was worth the trouble.  
  
Before he could consider asking--or consider _considering_ asking--Ignis turned to him with a pleasant smile. “We have quite a bit of time before dinner begins. Please feel free to sample some hors d’oeuvres. I expect the prince should be arriving shortly.”

There was a slight edge to his tone when he said that, even though his easygoing expression didn’t falter for a second, and Prompto thought he could guess what Ignis was thinking. At least, he knew what Loqi would at a time like this: _he’d better be._

Prompto didn’t hold it against him, not when he was still too busy marveling at the total overload of sensory information that the Lucians had managed to put together without making it overwhelming. Could anyone blame him? If Lucis went to the effort and expense with their army that they did with their fancy palace, he wondered if the war would have ended differently. Not that he had ever been given the alleged honor of representing Niflheim on the battlefield, of course, so he could only assume where it was King Regis's attention tended to focus.

Honestly, he couldn't complain about that.  
  
"Sounds great," he replied to Ignis when he realized it would be rude to ignore him in favor of gaping. Flashing the chamberlain a small smile, he pointed over at a long banquet table settled at the rear of the chamber and finally mustered the courage to tentatively inquire, "Is, uh...it all right to take a look, or...?"

Ignis glanced over at the table and nodded as he plucked a glass of water from one of the passing servers.

“Of course,” he answered as though it should be obvious. Taking a small sip, he continued, “The table in the back has a rather wide selection should the wait staff not be carrying anything to your tastes. I would advise against filling up on appetizers, however. Tonight’s meal is five courses, including a rather decadent dessert. If you like, I shall inform you when the prince arrives. Don’t feel that you need to wait for him before indulging.”

If it were possible for a brain to short-circuit, Prompto thought his was definitely exhibiting the warning signs. Forget the prince’s arrival--five courses? People _had_ five-course meals? He wouldn't have believed it, but the wonders he'd been exposed to all day erased any question in his mind as to whether Ignis was being truthful. 

Five courses. And from the sound of it, he'd be allowed to partake in all of them. If this crazy mission of his was indeed the dream of a lifetime as he was beginning to suspect, no one had better wake him up. Not before dessert.  
  
"Great!" he _totally_ didn't squeak in his haste. "Then I'll just be”--he pointed to the banquet table--"right over there."  
  
Probably a bit redundant, but his excitement got the better of him--so sue him. Ignis hadn't held anything against him yet, not even his background as far as he could tell, so surely he wouldn't get his nose out of joint with Prompto for being a little too enthusiastic about the display.

Or the fact that he was going to eat whatever the hell they let him. Yeah, he'd _said_ not to fill up, but this stuff wasn't enhanced like his meal bars usually were. He could probably eat a ton like any other Lucian and have plenty of room for dinner itself.

  
So, Prompto refused to feel guilty as he grabbed a uselessly tiny napkin off the corner of the table and started loading one of everything into it. He popped anything that smelled particularly good directly into his mouth without waiting, and if the glances he garnered from his own retinue nearby were any indication, Prompto figured the noises he made at the taste were at least borderline inappropriate.  
  
_Oh well. This stuff is amazing!_

Amazing enough that he didn’t mind it when he spotted Loqi glaring at him with his best _Do Not Be An Embarrassment_ expression. It was the same one he’d worn when they arrived earlier, although Prompto didn’t take it to heart this time. For one thing, it wasn’t like the emperor was around to say anything about his eating habits (nor did Prompto believe he would notice or care, to be honest). For another, not a day passed when Loqi _didn’t_ give him that look. Eventually, you just got used to it.

That was how he could tell that Loqi was doing his best not to storm right over and slap the napkin out of Prompto’s hand. It would have made things awkward to cause a scene before dinner had even started, and ruining perfectly good food would definitely garner a lot of attention. Instead, Loqi crossed the room with obvious purpose and kept his face carefully neutral, picking up a napkin for himself and pretending to also partake of the delicacies on offer.  
  
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you _think_ you could conduct yourself with a bit more dignity?”

Prompto paused, his mouth too full of food to answer immediately. Buying himself some time, he glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder to see Ignis averting his gaze at the last moment and studiously pretending to focus on the door in anticipation of Prince Noctis’s arrival. Well, at least _he_ didn’t have to witness this. 

Unlike Ignis, Prompto didn’t have the luxury of even feigning ignorance with regards to Loqi’s presence, much as he would have liked to. _Ugh, every damn time..._

The empire had many ways of keeping track of their units, not least of which the barcode hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket, but he was beginning to wonder if they hadn't implanted a chip or something that told Loqi where he was at all times. It would definitely explain his unfortunate tendency of stepping all over the dreams Prompto didn't know he even _had_ at every turn. Was he _seriously_ not just as captivated by the ridiculous, overdone, _fantastic_ display set out before them?!  
  
...Actually, no, he probably wasn't. Knowing him, he likely didn't think it was big enough.  
  
Swallowing the flavorful goodness that took up too much space in his mouth to speak around (a surprisingly difficult task--he didn't realize he'd grabbed so much!), Prompto tried to remember that this was his commander and act accordingly. He supposed he did all right when all he muttered was a quiet, "If they're laughing at me, they're not seeing me as a threat, you know."  
  
_Yup, make it about the mission. Toooootally all about the mission._  
  
Loqi couldn't deny that one, right? Maybe he _was_ being an embarrassment--that might just work in their favor, though. He didn't necessarily want to look like an idiot, but if it threw suspicion off of him, then perhaps he _should_ shove a few more stuffed mushrooms into his mouth. Just to be safe.

Of course, his commander hadn’t been born yesterday and tended to think the worst of everything and everyone, so his excuse fell flat.

“I think we both know that this has nothing to do with the mission,” Loqi muttered, clearly not believing that Prompto was smart enough to have the foresight to portray himself as an incompetent moron.

_Spoiler alert: the joke’s on you. Ha._

If there was one thing Prompto thought he could do well, it was act like an incompetent moron. He wasn’t one-- _totally_ wasn’t one--but it worked in his favor to pretend sometimes.

Loqi, on the other hand, didn’t seem to get the difference.

“You listen to me, _Prom_ : if you continue to behave like an utter fool, they’re going to start to wonder why they weren’t able to defeat such an inept mess such as yourself. You,” he leveled severely, “are property of the empire. And we don’t need faulty product.”

With that, he turned, heading back the way he came and amicably calling out to a fellow member of their party while leaving Prompto to stare after him.

All through Loqi's verbal dressing down, he kept his mouth decisively and resolutely shut. It didn't matter that a muscle in his jaw twitched at the ridiculous nickname that his commander _had_ to know he hated with a passion; it didn't matter that he could argue in a million different ways that the _faulty weapon_ was probably the one that hadn't been chosen for this mission in the first place. None of it made a bit of difference: Loqi, for as huge an ass as he was, remained Prompto's commander until someone told him otherwise. The nature of his task didn't change that, nor did his inevitable demise afterward. Killing the prince wouldn't help him rise in the ranks or put him in a position to oust Loqi; he didn't want any of that and never had. When his mission was accomplished, either he'd be dead or go right back where he'd been before.  
  
After all, he _was_ exactly what his commander said: property. Equipment. A weapon. Always had been, always would be. When he was finished, he'd get holstered again.  
  
So he said nothing. He merely tightened his grip on the napkin he still held and gritted his teeth until they hurt. But he said nothing. It wasn't his place.

A few beats passed before Ignis appeared at his shoulder, picking up one of the small plates Prompto hadn’t really noticed at the corner of the table. The motion provided a decent enough distraction, and he watched in silence as the chamberlain filled it while remarking, “It would seem that the prince is on his way down if you would like to take the opportunity to meet him.”

Prompto frowned blankly. He never thought he would have been _grateful_ for Ignis’s company as soon as Loqi was gone, but wonders never ceased around here, it seemed. The prince’s chamberlain didn't even join in on the reprimands, even though he damn well had every right to. It wouldn't have been too much to expect that he would whisk Prompto’s food from his hands and send him back upstairs, thinking that he was unfit for this snazzy affair. (He wouldn't have been wrong, either.)  
  
Instead, he...modeled. Prompto recognized it immediately: just like his weapons instructors showed them how to use their armaments with the expectation that they would imitate unprompted, Ignis was putting on a very deliberate show of how to properly serve oneself around Lucian royalty.  
  
That or he was just hungry. Prompto kinda hoped it was the other option.

Whether it was or not, he carefully replaced his napkin with a plate and transferred his numerous snacks to the sturdier surface like Ignis had done. If the prince was about to arrive, he'd probably hate to see Prompto eating at all in his presence, so he may as well not invite more scorn by going about it the wrong way. That would be counterproductive when he desperately needed to make a good impression.

"I kinda figured that was a given," he replied in as light a tone as he could manage.

“Of course,” Ignis responded, his tone somewhat apologetic.

_Great. Way to give it away, Prompto._

The last thing he needed when Loqi was just waiting for him to screw up was for Ignis to realize that what his commander had to say had not been to Prompto’s liking. The relationship between the two of them had always been a strained one; spending a few weeks in enemy territory wasn’t about to change that. Still, it was something that the Lucians could exploit if they figured it out, and Prompto wasn’t about to be the one to screw this up just because he couldn’t keep his game-face on, especially when he was going to be spending so much time with the prince.

As soon as that thought occurred to him, Prince Noctis walked into the dining room with his Shield, appearing to be keeping as low a profile as possible. Prompto figured he could understand the mentality: he wasn’t the king or the emperor, so he didn’t need to make a grand entrance. Still, he was royalty, and Prompto couldn’t fathom why he _wouldn’t_ want to bask in his own moment. Maybe he just didn’t want to be the center of attention if there was any trouble--yeah, that would fit with the nature of royals as Prompto knew it.  
  
Speaking of trouble, the prince chose that moment to glance over at where Prompto was still standing beside the appetizer table with Ignis. Even from this distance, he could see the rise and fall of Prince Noctis’s shoulders when he sighed and muttered something to Gladiolus. Prompto couldn’t quite read what he was saying on his lips, and there wasn’t enough time to guess before the prince set his attention back on them with a frown.  

They were already off to an awesome start, from the looks of things. At this rate, they weren’t likely to get along in the slightest. He definitely had his work cut out for him.

Then again, they hadn’t even said two words to each other yet, so there was a chance he could be proven wrong.

_Fingers crossed!_

Without waiting for his Shield’s response, Prince Noctis headed over to the table, his expression twitching in something like disgust. At first, Prompto was positive that it had to do with him; there was no reason for the prince to be glad to see him, after all. Then Prompto followed his gaze to discover that Prince Noctis’s attention wasn’t on him at all--it was the stuffed mushrooms that had earned his ire this time. It was enough to have him almost breathing a sigh of relief: at least he didn’t rank alongside a fungus stuffed with...whatever that was. That had to count for something, right?

“Hey,” the prince greeted them with a nod at Ignis.  
  
“You’re late,” his chamberlain responded, throwing his charge a flat look.

“Oh, come on. Dad and Emperor Cru— _Aldercapt_ aren’t even here yet,” he argued, the sudden diversion making Prompto wonder what he was about to call the emperor. “I’m on time.”

Ignis didn’t debate the point further, but it was pretty clear from his expression that by his standards, the prince and his Shield _were_ late. Given that his own commanding officer was now present, however, he chose not to comment. He simply cleared his throat instead and gestured towards Prompto.

“This is Prompto,” he said by way of introduction. “I have been showing him around the open parts of the Citadel while you lollygagged. As you know, he’ll be joining you and Gladio for the time being.”

Turning his attention to Prompto, Ignis continued, “Prompto, may I introduce to you His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis.”

As jarring as it was to be formally introduced for the first time at a moment’s notice, it wasn’t what brought Prompto up short. _This... Is this a joke?_

Prompto had to focus most of his energy on trying not to gape at the prince and his retinue like a complete moron, which was much harder than he’d expected. It just didn't make sense: Ignis spoke to the prince like they were _equals_ . And the latter didn't mind! If Ignis had said that to Aldercapt or Izunia or even Loqi, they'd send him flying so fast that it would literally make his head spin--and that was before he counted all the painful chores he'd be forced to do to remind him of his place by comparison. Prince Noctis, on the other hand, just...took it. He even kinda smiled.  
  
That was more than Prompto could say for his Shield, anyway. The big guy looked like he was one introduction away from peeling Prompto's skin off his bones and using it for Insomnia's new flag. From the moment they’d walked through the door, he hadn't cracked a smile or said a word. He simply stuck to the prince's side like his overgrown shadow, his eyes intently focused on Prompto.  
  
Sheesh, he knew he'd be considered an enemy, but did the guy _have_ to look like a volcano ready to erupt on the first night? Suddenly, Prompto wished he'd left his food in a napkin; at least appearing to be a bumbling idiot might have eased the Shield's judgment just a tad. Oh well--he’d simply have to work a little harder, then.  
  
He’d start right now. As soon as Ignis was finished making the customary introductions, Prompto bowed deeply at the waist the same way he would have in the emperor's presence. Well, okay, he would have been on one knee in front of Aldercapt, but the room was crowded so he had to make do with this instead.  
  
"It's an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Highness," he told the floor at his feet in the exact words Loqi had made him memorize. "I appreciate the opportunity to learn from someone as esteemed as yourself."

For a moment, the prince didn’t say anything at all, and Prompto struggled against grimacing at the idea that he’d already messed up somehow. He’d gotten the wording right, hadn’t he? Maybe his bow wasn’t quite what Prince Noctis wanted. Maybe his back wasn’t straight enough?

Just when he decided to adjust his posture and hope for the best, however, Prince Noctis spoke. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much to put Prompto’s mind at ease.

“Yeah, you don’t have to do that,” he muttered, an almost unnoticeable twinge of annoyance in his voice.

_Oh, shit._

"Y-Yes, Your Highness," Prompto answered immediately. He somehow managed to hide his wince at the way he stuttered through his response, if only just. 

Loqi might have had a point--he _had_ managed to screw up, and they hadn't gotten past the standard formalities yet. Not exactly the best start here.  
  
So, bowing was off the menu, much to his confusion. Maybe the prince was merely one of those people who didn't like when people made a scene? Prompto would have thought royalty loved that sort of thing, but perhaps he was different. He might be more of a military guy who wanted you to stand at attention whenever you spoke or salute or something. He had no clue what passed for a salute in Lucis, though, so he'd have to stick with the former and hope it was enough. And really, standing up straight would get Loqi off his back about slouching, so it was win-win.  
  
At the very least, his posture didn’t appear to offend the prince any further. The latter simply took a deep breath and inquired, “So, you’re going to be hanging out with us the whole time?”

Maybe he realized that the answer was one they were both already well (and kinda painfully) aware of, because Prince Noctis didn’t wait for him to answer before turning his attention to the table beside them in search of something to eat. Ignis stopped him almost immediately, offering him the plate in his hands. Prompto watched the prince almost take it before pausing, eyeing its contents with undisguised disgust even as a grin spread at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, nice try, Specs. Maybe give that to Gladio. He’s gonna need those greens to grow up all big and strong.”

As if the guy needed to be any bigger _or_ stronger. Prompto was uncomfortably aware of the prince's Shield as he stiffened his shoulders and straightened his spine. He was still surveying him as if Prompto was trying to make off with some of the super shiny, enormously impressive, and utterly _too-much-trouble-to-bother_ silverware. He tried his best to ignore the implication _and_ the attention beyond emulating Gladiolus’s posture, which wasn’t as successful as he would have liked. There was nowhere to easily deposit his plate without causing a stir, so he held it awkwardly to the side instead with his wrist twisted painfully to keep it level.  
  
_Oh yeah, smooth one, Prompto. Now you look like you've got a stick up your ass._  
  
Gladiolus didn’t comment on it, only raising an eyebrow at him in spite of the obvious _judginess_ in his eyes. Well, at least he was apparently going to wait before deciding whether Prompto was a kook. He wasn’t sure whether to feel comforted by that or not.

"Pretty sure I ain't gotta worry about that like _some_ people," he belatedly shot back, maybe a little more pointedly than strictly necessary.

For his part, Prompto didn't miss a beat or even take offense at the slight. Rather, he thrust his own plate towards the prince so fast that his Shield appeared to consider stepping between them. _Oops_. 

"You can have mine, Your Highness!" he offered earnestly, logging away the knowledge that the prince was apparently not a fan of vegetables. His own plate was home to so many things that the greens were well hidden and by no means as prevalent as Ignis's selection. Let his Shield tempt fate with disrespectful joking when he should have swallowed the prince’s remark with a smile--royalty was all the same, and as such, Prompto was going to treat Prince Noctis exactly as he would the emperor. Better safe than sorry, after all.

Or so he thought.

Prince Noctis seemed at a complete loss for how to respond to Prompto’s stuttered exclamation and subsequent offer of his own plate, piled high with about three of everything available and definitely fit for royalty. For a few devastatingly long seconds, all he did was glance back and forth between Prompto and Ignis as though the latter might be able to explain why this pleb was giving him his food.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he eventually replied with a decidedly cool tone, waving off Prompto’s offer before reaching for his own plate. “I can get it myself.”

Ignis raised his eyes at Gladiolus’s, but rather than addressing the prince’s Shield, he turned back to Prompto to suggest, “If you are unable to finish your portion, Prompto, you may leave it with a server. They’ll see to it that it is properly taken care of.”

 _Strike two_ and _three. I'm on a roll today._

Prompto didn't bother telling Ignis that he _was_ hungry and most definitely _could_ finish everything on his plate. This whole arrangement was really starting to confuse him, and they'd barely spent a few minutes together. In Gralea, if a commander wanted something, you handed it over before they had to ask you for it. Waiting too long was considered insubordination--it was easier to just do what you were supposed to and be grateful for a grunt of acknowledgement.  
  
That apparently meant something different in Lucis than Niflheim. Prince Noctis didn't want his bowing or his food when he was hungry. Prompto didn't know _what_ he wanted, and that was a dangerous realization. He'd been counting on getting close to the prince by treating him the way all royals expected, but everything he tried was backfiring until he was nervous his next strike would be his last.  
  
So, he did the only remotely intelligent thing he could think of: _nothing_. He nodded in response to Ignis's suggestion and then stuffed his mouth full of food so he couldn't use it to make any other mistakes. It looked like the new name of the game was observation.

Not that there was much to see. The prince wandered off to scour the table for something worth eating, and his Shield followed close on his heels. Ignis stood beside him with a sour expression that clearly indicated that he wasn’t a fan of the prince’s choices. Nothing to see here.

So much for gathering information. If he couldn’t do better than this, then there was no way he’d be able to complete his mission. At this rate, he’d be lucky if the prince didn’t try to throw him off the balcony before the end of the evening.

Those thoughts could wait for later, though. Right now, the private doors on the other end of the room opened to admit the king and his own Shield. It looked like the show was about to start whether they were ready or not.

Everyone turned as the room’s attention was drawn to their royal host’s arrival, and Prompto spied the prince abandoning his plate at the corner of the table to drift back towards them with Gladiolus in tow. There was something in his expression that Prompto hadn’t been expecting, something softer than he’d thought to see from a prince when they were at an official gathering. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed for a second as though Prince Noctis was about to take a step forward and meet the king halfway into the room before thinking better of it. In less than a second, the emotion had been wiped clean off his face, leaving something bland and very _royal_ in its wake.  
  
That was more than he could say for the king’s retinue, at least. Clarus Amicitia’s file indicated that he was a force to be reckoned with, and Prompto could see why as he watched the senior Shield gazing around the room with a sharp eye. It lingered for a moment on their group, and Prompto immediately averted his eyes to the floor in equal parts respect and intimidation. Hey, he wasn’t afraid to admit when someone gave him the heebie-jeebies--especially when said _someone_ had helped birth a baby behemoth who could probably crush him with his bare hands. Call him crazy, but he wasn’t stupid, especially when he glanced up and caught the way the king’s Shield frowned in his direction with even more disdain than his son.

It took a lot of effort for Prompto not to groan at the arrival of more people he had to convince that he meant no harm. Two Shields, and neither of them were going to cut him any slack. Not that he expected it--he simply hoped they wouldn't both be hanging around all the time. It would just make his job that much harder. Yet another thing for him to stress over.

Pending he made it through this dinner in one piece, of course.

The jury was out on whether that was even a possibility when the king’s eyes turned to them and, with a small smile that Emperor Aldercapt _never_ would have let anyone see, he made his way over to their group. Prompto didn’t even wait for him to reach them before backing off a bit and dipping his head low in deference. If he was already on both Shields’ shit lists, then it probably wouldn’t hurt to be as polite as possible. Just in case.

"I appreciate your punctuality,” he greeted them with a kind nod, placing a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “The atmosphere is splendidly accentuated, Ignis."  
  
“I daresay I only relayed Noctis’s suggestions to the appropriate personnel. All credit for this beautiful display is his,” Ignis replied modestly. When Prompto peered up at him in skeptical surprise, it was to find him eyeing the prince while the latter ducked his head in response to the compliments.  
  
“S’no big deal,” Prince Noctis muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.  
  
If he’d thought the prince’s behavior was unreal before, it was nothing compared to the confusion that crowded Prompto’s mind now. He was used to seeing the emperor delegate, leaving most matters to his advisors and retainers and commanders all the way down the line to grunts like him. It was unheard of for royalty to do actual work, especially when it involved more than just ordering someone to do something. Putting together this event had to take thought--a lot more of it than simply tossing around opinions, too. If the prince didn't mind getting his hands dirty, even if it _was_ nothing more than fancy decorations, that could be telling. He hadn't been anticipating a royal with any brains in his head, at least not enough that he'd escape.  
  
Maybe Prompto needed a few plans further along in the alphabet.  
  
As he set his sights on both prince and king, he realized that one thing was for sure: the emperor had it right when he’d ordered the prince's assassination. Aldercapt wasn't the touchy-feely kind, as far as any of them could tell; he'd never gotten married or had kids, not even to guarantee some heirs to his shit show. He'd still been cognizant enough to realize that Prince Noctis was the key to King Regis's morale, though. Prompto hadn't quite believed that such a thing was possible, not until that very moment when the latter leveled his son with a look he could only describe as _tender_ \--one he'd not seen in person before.  
  
"On the contrary," the king countered with gentle pride, seemingly uncaring of their audience, "it is quite an accomplishment. The success of this... _momentous_ occasion rests largely on your shoulders. You have done well, my son."  
  
It looked like there was a good bit more that King Regis _wanted_ to say, but the demands of his title won out in the end. Instead, his attention was drawn to the way furtive glances were being tossed in their direction by hungry envoys who were very likely waiting for his word to dig in.

Prompto totally wasn’t one of them. Not at all.

So it didn’t make his stomach rumble even a bit when, with a final squeeze to Prince Noctis's shoulder, he turned to face the room with a lukewarm smile on his face and gestured towards the dining area in the subsequent hush.  
  
"Honored friends and noble guests," he greeted them all in the same regal air Prompto had begun to expect from him, "let us be seated."

The board was set. It was time for the pieces to get a move on.

 ***

Of course, Noctis knew he could only spend so much time with his father’s attention before reality beckoned them back and they were reminded that they had duties to attend to--duties that had become more precarious than normal given their situation. As such, Noctis took his seat between Gladio and Ignis without comment. It wasn’t right next to his father, but at the very least it was close enough that he could still feel his presence.

Or he _would_ have been able to feel his presence if Aldercapt and the entire Niflheim contingent weren’t threatening to unhinge their jaws and swallow him whole.

Honestly, if he’d had it his way, tonight would have gone a lot differently. As worried as Ignis had been that his idea of a black color scheme would give too much of a mourning vibe to what was supposed to be viewed as a momentous and happy occasion, Noctis thought it was more than appropriate. After all, even though it might not have been the most diplomatic opinion, he’d found it pretty easy to shrug off the notion and argue that white would wash out the pasty-ass corpses that they were hosting. That wording wasn’t exactly going to fly with the decorating committee or his father, though, so he’d gone with less abrasive phrasing at the time. Ignis, at least, still knew what he meant.

Just like he’d decided to let in the fresh evening air with a roll of his eyes when Noctis suggested opening the balcony doors so if any of them wanted to jump, they could. His declaration that he’d kill a Niff for every vegetable he saw on the tables, however, had apparently gone unheard.

All sarcasm aside, he had to grudgingly admit that the place looked pretty good. It was too bad they didn’t have better guests to share it with, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. Really, the bigger shock wasn’t that it had all come together so much as the way his father had praised him for it, and Noctis had to hide a small smile at the residual feeling of a steady hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t considered what he had contributed to be all that much: Ignis was the genius who had created all of this from a few snarky comments and a color scheme. Still, deserved or not, he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t nice to hear.

With that thought in mind, he glanced back to the head of the table and offered his father one last tiny smile of solidarity before Aldercapt took his seat and sucked the joy right out of the table.

“You have done quite well to make us welcome here,” Aldercapt began as he moved his silverware into straighter lines, inspecting each one for the smallest flecks of tarnish. “I can only hope that the negotiations go as smoothly.”  
  
Noctis gritted his teeth. Aldercapt’s tone was not that of one ruler speaking to another. No, he sounded like an instructor talking to an errant pupil and relaying his expectations. If this was a preview of the dinner and the rest of their stay, Noctis had a feeling that things were only going to get worse for his father, an assumption that was starting to hurt his appetite.

Ignis must have seen him begin to tense up as a result of his new and tempting desire to hurl a salad fork at the stodgy old emperor, because he shot Noctis a quick glance, one that he met with a stubborn frown before fixing a bored look on his plate. It wasn’t ideal, but it was admittedly better than glaring at the emperor throughout their meal--or, worse, finding something smarmy to say. Instead, Noctis fiddled with the hem of his suit jacket under the table and peered over to watch as Ignis smiled at Prompto across the way. 

_Ugh, great._

So far, Noctis had no idea what he was supposed to make of the emperor’s pet soldier. Niffs were supposed to be rude sacks of crap with no decency when it came to treating other people with respect, right? Prompto, on the other hand, had done everything but ever since they met. It was really starting to aggravate him, if he was being honest. If Prompto had been the smarmy cockbag that Noctis had been anticipating as a member of Niflheim’s contingent, then dealing with him using his own brand of subtle sarcasm would have suited him just fine. As it stood, he couldn’t bring himself to be a smart ass when Prompto was doing stuff like bowing and eagerly offering him his plate. He couldn’t even be _annoyed_ , not really. If anything, he was simply dreading the next few weeks. He could only take so much ass-kissing, and who knew how long they were going to be stuck together on a daily basis? If this guy planned on those deep genuflections each time they crossed paths, eventually Noctis would be prompted to kick him. 

Besides, bowing to _him_ when _they_ were the country that won the war felt a little like mocking, and like hell was Noctis going to be mocked by some imperial-dressed chocobo.

Admittedly, _overzealous ass-kisser_ was not the worst breed of Niff he could have been stuck with. If he had exuded as much condescension and slime as Aldercapt during their arrival earlier, Noctis was certain he wouldn’t have made it through a whole day without stabbing Prompto a little.

It was still too soon in their stay to tell if Prompto was going to escape the trip unscathed, but if the way Ignis hadn’t glared at him in disdain yet was any indication, then Noctis had a feeling his chamberlain wouldn’t let him get away with it.

_So much for that._

Still, as Noctis glanced back at his plate and waited for them to serve the first course, he refused to let his guard down just yet. The whole thing was off. Gladio had said as much earlier: something wasn’t right with Prompto, although the same could probably be said for all their guests. There was just no way that anyone from the empire could be as genuinely respectful like he was, not unless they wanted something.

_He wants information from you. He wants to figure out how to tear you and your dad down more. He wants you to like him so he can use you._

Noctis drew in a breath as he began to make more sense out of the situation. That sounded right--that sounded more like the Niflheim he knew. Noctis figured he didn’t have to be mean, but he didn’t have to respond in a manner that gave this moron any indication that his tactics were working, either.

Just like Emperor Aldercapt wasn’t fooling _anyone_ with that hopeful crap.

Unlike Noctis's patient and ever rational advisor, he could tell that Gladio was fully prepared to remind the emperor who he was dealing with in no uncertain terms-- _ideally_ , anyway _._ Whether it was the fact that he sat next to his father or that the king was on the latter's other side, he held his tongue so tightly that the muscle in his jaw kept twitching. Noctis could relate. Dinner wasn't the time to start shit, though--they had the negotiations for that, as Aldercapt had so kindly reminded them.

For now, he could settle for an unimpressed quirk of his eyebrows and disdainful stare. He wasn't worth much more than that.  
  
The price of being a monarch meant that his father didn’t have the same privilege. Rather, he inclined his head slightly as the serving staff set plates of salad before them and casually replied, "I am confident that the proceedings will indeed be a most productive affair. It is not often that our neighbors have had the privilege of such an opportunity."  
  
Noctis had to admire the way he refrained from pointing out that that was mostly due to the empire's unfortunate habit of shooting first and offering terms of peace after the fact, if they could be called that. To do so would be to openly insult Aldercapt and his lackeys, which would have been inappropriate; the emperor could imagine it as whatever he wanted so long as his dad did not offer confirmation that that was what he meant.

It wasn’t really a secret, though. Anyone with half a brain could see what he meant a mile off, so Aldercapt would have had to be a real dumbass not to realize it as well. Whether he chose to comment on it or not, Noctis had no doubt that his father’s snark would definitely make the evening a real... _bang_.

The last thing anyone needed was for Noctis to contribute to the chaos that would probably ensue, so he immediately took to hunting for anything that might distract him. Well, not _anything_ \--the wait staff chose that moment to set their plates in front of them, and Noctis bit back a scowl at the salad that grinned mischievously back at him.

With tomatoes.

 _Extra_ tomatoes.

That had to be Gladio’s doing. 

His Shield was careful not to meet his eyes as he dug into his own meal with gusto, but Noctis had a less than enthusiastic approach to his, quietly pushing the greens from one end of the plate to the other as he patiently waited for this course to end and the staff to bring out something more edible. For those playing along at home, and in spite of how appeased the envoys seemed with their food, Noctis would have liked to think the score was currently _Lucis_ one, _Emperor Old Balls_ zero. Though, maybe zero was a bit unfair, seeing as the entire empire currently had them in their clenched fist. In the battle of wits, however, Noctis believed that they were coming out ahead.  
  
When he glanced over to see how their Niff tagalong liked his father’s remarks, he was surprised to see he seemed unbothered and was grazing at his salad like a baby garula. Noctis refrained from picking at his food for a moment to offer Ignis a questioning look. He’d always assumed that Niffs were a pack of wild animals with zero manners, but he hadn’t really expected it to be like this. He could feel a smart ass comment forming on the tip of his tongue but instantly bit it back: there was no need to draw attention to this guy’s behavior when it would only invite more hostility from Niflheim as a result.

Ignis didn’t meet Noctis’s gaze when he shot him a confused glance, knowing full well what he was indicating without him saying a word. That was the beauty of having known each other since they were kids: it made getting a point across a hell of a lot easier. Besides, if anyone was the king of subtlety, it was Ignis.

Lowering his head, Noctis furtively watched as Ignis attempted to catch Prompto’s eye by deliberately picking up the smaller salad fork and only spearing as much food as it would hold before taking a bite.

It took a minute but, mouth still full, Prompto paused in chewing and stared in obvious embarrassment. Noctis averted his gaze with an involuntary grimace. Yeah, the guy was a Niff, but he didn’t need anyone else to witness _that_ humiliation. Ignis could handle showing him proper table manners on his own. 

Further down the table, the emperor and the rest of the imperial higher-ups were fortunately none the wiser to the small blond caveman in their midst. In fact, Noctis was uncomfortably aware of the fact that Loqi’s attention appeared to be more on _him_ than anyone else.

“Is the food not to your liking, Your Highness?”

The title was added as an obvious afterthought when the commander addressed him, and he quickly turned his attention back to the more prominent end of the table to frown in response.

“It’s perfect,” he answered, forcing himself to take a bite of the salad while leaving out the tomatoes. “I was just enjoying your company too much.”

Obviously not having a snarky comeback for Noctis’s response, Loqi shifted his gaze to his father instead. “It’s rather hard to believe that you have such a young heir, given your advanced appearance,” he commented, keeping his tone as polite and friendly as possible.  
  
“Ah,” Emperor Aldercapt crooned, joining in on the petty assault. He could probably still feel the sting of his dad’s previous retort. “It is quite a shame to see such a force of nature brought to his knees at the behest of the gods.”

Noctis gritted his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. From the looks of things, he wasn’t the only one: Clarus would probably have loved to say something in response to the clear taunts that came from Niflheim’s side of the table. With any other guests, he would have pointed out that at least Noctis’s father had an heir that would take over for him one day, for better or worse, and that it would be a shame that Aldercapt’s body wouldn’t become cold before every one of these slobbering upstarts began clamoring for his position. He would have addressed the fact that Commander Tummelt hardly appeared old enough for a driver’s permit let alone an officer’s position, but that it just went to show that status could clearly be bought with a family name instead of actual skills. He would have said plenty of things--Noctis had seen it before.

To do so now, with the Niffs on the receiving end of his scorn, would have been a disservice to the king. They would view his need to step in during a verbal battle as weakness on his dad’s part, and Clarus was the least likely of all of them to tolerate that. 

So, he set an example for the rest of them and let Noctis’s dad handle it like the regal figure he was. He wasn’t the type to rise to vile taunts so easily, and Gladio appeared to take his lead.  That was the only thing that kept Noctis’s mouth shut: if his Shield could find the strength in himself to do it, then he would have to follow suit.

It turned out that he didn’t need to worry about letting anything slip. Noctis immediately stilled when his father laughed--a cold, fake noise to anyone who knew what it sounded like when he truly found humor in a situation. It was yet another reminder that this was a battle of leaders, not their bodyguards or sons, even if that rat-faced commander seemed to think it was his place to talk shit about his own eating habits or his father’s  age. (It wasn't.) 

And damn, his dad--the _king_ \--had a way with words.  
  
"To be endowed with such blessings is an honor bestowed upon few," he shot back with an easily unruffled expression despite the deep wound those words must have dealt him. "I still have many years left in their service, a calling for which I will always be grateful. It has allowed more monarchs than myself to see Lucis thrive. Others are not so fortunate."  
  
Perhaps that was less veiled than he intended, but this was still _his_ kingdom, and the envoys were still _guests_ regardless of who had won the war. The Crystal _had_ weakened him; it had aged him prematurely until the man he used to be was nothing more than a distant memory, one Noctis was beginning to lose sight of as time wore on. There was no denying that, nor that it would do the same to him when it was finally his time to take the throne.

That wasn’t any of Aldercapt’s business, though. Yeah, the Crystal weakened him--but it was also where he found the strength to protect Lucis, or what would be left of it once the treaty was ratified. Let the crusty old goat believe his father to be less than he was. His overestimation of his own abilities would be his undoing, and Noctis was definitely here for that.

“I do believe that is why it is imperative we come to agreeable peace terms,” Aldercapt responded, swallowing his father’s comment with as much grace as he could muster while he eyed Noctis with a gaze that was obviously meant to be endearing. “For the dear future of Lucis.”  
  
Struggling not to grimace, Noctis picked at his salad a bit more as a way to distract himself. In his distress over the comments made towards his father, however, he had accidentally eaten a tomato--an act that he’d make Niflheim pay for dearly later. It was all he could do, though, to not use that tiny fork to stab Aldercapt between the eyes.

That and it appeared Commander Puberty was amping up the asshole generator to gain favor. Noctis assumed it was only right to help him out a little, what with their talk of the future.

“Being a commander at your age is also really impressive,” he said, avoiding a carrot in his meal this time. “You must have done some great work for the empire to earn that title.”

For a second, he was surprised that his advisor’s stiffening beside him didn’t end in a swift kick under the table. Then again, it wasn’t the absolute worst thing he could have done. Besides, Ignis had always tried to encourage him to use his words--maybe just not _those_ words.  
  
Loqi gritted his teeth for a moment, and Noctis could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he tried to come up with an appropriate answer. “House Tummelt has done many a great service to the empire. It was only fitting that I continue that legacy.”

_Uh huh. Sure._

So, no, Loqi hadn’t done anything impressive yet. There was a shock.

Saying so would definitely be going too far, so Noctis simply nodded slowly and decided against answering. Gladio, on the other hand, apparently felt no need to pussyfoot around.

"Legacies are great and all, but service records are what make or break a reputation," he grunted, affecting a bored demeanor he couldn’t have truly felt. "Guess there's always time for that later."  
  
For as much as Noctis was _positive_ Gladio would be getting a stern talking-to from his father later, he couldn’t help internally cheering all the same. It was in moments like these that he was glad to call Gladio his Shield. Well, there were others too, but this had to be the best.

“I do think the Amatia family has been serving as the Lucian Shield for some time now,” Loqi commented to Gladio after a moment, obviously pronouncing the name wrong on purpose as a petty dig. “I would say your current position came from a matter of namesake, wouldn’t you?”

That was a low blow, lower than even Noctis had thought the Niffs would go at this dinner. It seemed to take every ounce of self control Gladio possessed not to rise to the bait that little shit was setting in front of him like cheese for a mouse. Luckily, his father chose that moment to silence them with a glance before finally responding to the emperor’s statement. 

"Your concern is unnecessary. We take just as much pride in the accomplishments of our future generations as I'm sure you do in the empire."

Well, _if_ there were future generations to be had. His father must have been thinking along the same lines, because Noctis saw his eyes briefly flicker over to Prompto. He had a feeling he knew why: his new shadow couldn’t have been older than himself, and the thought of being used as cannon fodder in an uncaring empire's war was discomforting at best, unbearable at worst. No, his dad didn’t have the kind of time to see him that Noctis had always secretly hoped for, but there was no way he would have been okay with him joining the military and swallowing a bullet all in the name of Lucis.

What did Prompto’s family think of his own service? Did they call it an honor, or were they disappointed in his decision to join the fight? As he sat there picking carefully at his salad with exaggeratedly dainty bites, did he regret his choice, or was he proud to be here representing his shitty excuse for a homeland?

So many questions, none of which would be answered anytime soon if Noctis’s suspicions were correct. There were few things in life that he knew without question, but one of them was the fact that the empire didn’t care about the future unless it meant their rise to power. Those at the top only thought about how to stay there; retainers further down the hierarchy spent all their time plotting their inevitable attempt at seizing power. That was how it had always been with Niflheim, and it didn’t look like that was about to change anytime soon.  
  
Future? There _was_ no future for people like them. There was none for his father or himself, either. There was only the present and safeguarding what would come later to the best of their ability. That was a lesson he’d learned years ago, one he’d been reminded of every time his father didn’t show up to dinner or was gone from the Citadel for days on end. There was no escaping it--Noctis had resigned himself to that, not that it made him feel any better.  
  
"The future is indeed our most valuable commodity," Regis murmured, his eyes shifting away from Prompto. "Quite valuable indeed."

For a moment, Noctis thought he had imagined the way his father’s gaze momentarily landed on him before returning to Aldercapt. There was something concerning there that twisted his chest into knots. Dinner had barely begun, and Noctis was already fearful that this was an omen of how the negotiations would go. Niflheim seemed content to pick them apart with zero remorse. That was the reason why he tried to catch his father’s eye once more and offer some look of comfort--anything to not feel completely useless here. Gladio appeared to have a better handle on the enemy envoys; all Noctis had managed to do was rile up the snotty grade-schooler posing as a commander.  
  
“Will the young prince be gracing us with his presence at the negotiations?” Aldercapt asked, directing the question to his father rather than Noctis himself. “I am sure it will be beneficial to see what sort of ruler he will be when the time comes, especially if Niflheim and Lucis will be at peace with one another.”

Aldercapt offered Regis a smile alongside his implications that Noctis’s ascension would be sooner rather than later. Under the table, the thought had Noctis’s leg bouncing in agitation with lack of an appropriate outlet. Lunging across the place settings and ending Aldercapt’s tiresome rule was not a viable option.

An unexpected hand on his knee had him jerking his attention to Ignis. The brief contact gave him a moment to clear his frazzled mind and offer his friend a brief smile of thanks. He could only hope that his father would be provided with something similar. If he were closer, he could have only hoped to be that for him.

The outright hostility between both sides was getting ridiculous. Even Prompto, who had spent most of their meal almost entirely focused on his food, was starting to look uncomfortable with the situation. Noctis figured he wasn’t much better; he could feel how strained his expression had become, how stiff he was sitting as he waited for the next blow. Beside him, Ignis was just as tense; he even leaned back in his seat just in time to see Gladio crush Loqi's foot beneath the table while sipping calmly at his water, his eyes daring the commander to say something about it. (Not that his Shield probably thought he _would_ when it would mean whining about bullies in front of the whole room, but hey, Loqi didn’t exactly seem like the brightest guy.)

The changing of the courses didn't do anything to assuage the awkward bickering that had spread through most of the attendees, although Noctis had to admit it distracted him momentarily as that abomination of a first dish was finally removed from his sight. What took its place was a huge step up. Not even the little bits of green floating around here and there in his soup could lessen his relief, although he barely noticed the heavenly smell wafting up with the steam. He was too busy watching furtively while his father didn't even glance at what he was sampling, his attention focused solely on Aldercapt and his stupid question. As if Noctis _wouldn't_ be at the negotiations. And disappoint his dad? Yeah, right.  
  
"My son will indeed be joining us," he answered with a nod, sipping at his soup without looking. "It would be remiss of us to consider the future of our kingdoms without his guidance and approval."

Gladio looked like he wanted to laugh but managed to clear it from his throat at the last second. Noctis wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted by that. Of course, he hadn't been involved in international affairs to speak of; between his years in school and the community outreach he'd spearheaded since he was a teenager, there just hadn’t been any time. He'd always known that it was an inevitability, that he would have to give up some things to be an effective king, but they hadn't gotten that far yet. The way his father made it sound, however, someone might think he was a diplomatic genius instead of just getting his information from Ignis. 

Actually, that was probably a good thing. Let their scummy guests think they were dealing with an experienced, professional king-in-training. If it lended them even an ounce of clout in the negotiations, it would be worth it. Besides, he was a fast learner. He'd be running circles around these cretins before they took a break for lunch.

...Okay, maybe he wouldn’t be doing _that_ well, but he figured he could at least pretend to give them a run for their money. 

When his father caught Noctis's eye and smiled in as bolstering a manner possible, though, he couldn’t help wondering if he actually believed that crap himself. Whether he did or not, it was comforting to have that connection here, surrounded by enemies that were out for their throats. If they had to make it through the negotiations, then at least they had each other.  
  
They _both_ could do it, and they _would_ .  
  
"I suppose your esteemed warrior will also be joining us?" Regis asked serenely a moment later. "I assume this will be the first lesson of his pending education."

“Naturally, we would be most grateful if you allowed him to attend with the prince.” Aldercapt looked down the table at his solder as if he was only just remembering that he was present at all. “It would be most beneficial, as we hope that he be stationed in the area once the negotiations and treaty are finalized.”

_Beneficial--right._

Noctis didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near miss. After all, he couldn’t think of any good that would come from hanging out with this Niff for… How long was he staying again? 

“Will you be taking him outside the Wall?” the emperor asked without waiting for input, an innocent inflection creeping into his voice. “I believe it is advantageous to see the acquired territories.”

As far as Noctis was concerned, they could send their envoys outside the Wall and not come back, but they weren’t lucky enough for that. It was a valid request, though, one that Noctis could tell didn’t please Clarus in the slightest.

This choice would fall to his father, though, and Noctis had to wonder whether he would agree to it or not. There was already so much to be done around here, and that was before he considered the fact that preparation for him to travel outside of Insomnia would give Cor nightmares alone.  
  
Aldercapt must have sensed the sudden unease that his words evoked, because he slapped on a confused frown that was so fake, Noctis could literally see through it. (Seriously, those veins did _not_ look healthy.)  
  
“If it is a matter of safety, I should think that people do live out there, do they not?” he inquired, looking around the table and daring anyone to answer this rhetorical question. “If it is safe enough for the people, I would believe it is safe enough for their prince.”

Noctis suppressed an eye roll as he idly swirled his spoon around in his bowl. If Aldercapt expected him to be terrified of stepping outside Insomnia, then he was going to be disappointed. He would have loved to speak up and volunteer to take the little vegetable lover on a day trip to Lestallum, provided that none of the rocks thrown at Prompto hit him. 

Still, he imagined that his father, the council, the Crownsguard, and the Kingsglaive would have a different opinion of him just heading out for a road trip with one of their enemies. Given that his position in the negotiations was being called into question, Noctis decided that maybe now was a good time to display what little flair he had for handling thinly veiled hostility.  
  
“We’ll have to see if we can fit it into the schedule. Between negotiations and regular duties, I’ve got a lot planned for Prompto here,” Noctis mused aloud, not caring that Aldercapt had been asking his father and not him. He gave the emperor a pleasant smile, imagining that he looked much like his dad for a moment. “Besides, I’m sure it would be better for you to see them yourself. Your own eyes are probably far more reliable than one of your soldiers.”

If anyone had mastered the art of diplomatic sarcasm, it would be Noctis. He hadn’t flat out ended his statement with _bitch_ , but it had been implied. Not that the emperor would have noticed. Noctis assumed that halfway through his reply, the old sociopath had probably forgotten where he was and what he was doing. 

Which would serve him right for all this talk about Noctis’s ascension as if it were mere days away. Noctis had always hated that word and all the implications brought with it. _Ascension_ was just a fancy way of saying _your dad’s dead and so is everything else you’ve ever known and loved_. Honestly, if he wasn’t completely certain that the empire was comprised of soulless monsters, then he might have actually just handed over the Crystal to them and retired somewhere with his father. No more burdens, no more time apart, no more days spent having his very life force sucked dry by a greedy hunk of rock.

But they couldn’t do that. They had duties to uphold and futures to protect. Someone had to do it, and they just so happened to have pulled the short straw. If nothing else, he could at least take pride in the way his father’s lips twitched suspiciously in response to his answer. What could he say? Letting the emperor and his cronies use him as flooring wasn’t what his dad would do, so he wasn’t about to either. 

And hey, maybe they could take this as a good sign. Noctis had been educated in the facets of his duty that he would encounter, usually taking instruction from Ignis in lieu of personal experience. This was the first time he was operating mostly under his own power, and so far, he was still holding up without inciting a war at the table. If that wasn’t success, he didn’t know what was.  
  
"Indeed, I am afraid my son is quite busy of late," his father commented to the emperor with an inconspicuous quirk of his lips. "As you yourself claimed, there is a great deal to be done before he can ascend the throne in my stead. Now that it falls upon him to educate... My apologies, but I'm afraid I never was informed of your name or title."

***

  
There was a beat of silence--two--three--before Prompto realized the king was talking to _him_ . And that his mouth was currently filled with hot soup that was threatening to blister his tongue the longer he held it there.  
  
_...What._

Swallowing, Prompto croaked past his now seared throat, "Prompto, Your Majesty."

"I assume you also subscribe to a surname?" Regis prompted him patiently, his tone not at all as condescending as he knew he should probably expect.  
  
Actually, he had no idea what to expect anymore. More than anything, he was simply shocked the king himself had seen fit to insert him into the conversation as if he belonged there. Well, that and the fact that Prompto didn't _have_ a surname. Or a middle name. Or...anything. Some of the other guys in his unit did once upon a time, but they were quickly forgotten when the brass addressed them primarily by number.  
  
Now, Prompto was no Lucian, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be best to use _that_ as his last name. Instead, his eyes darted to his hand as if he would have his answer tattooed on the back of his wrist near the barcode his sleeve hid from view. (Spoiler alert: _he didn't_ .)  
  
What he _did_ have was his spoon.  
  
His silver spoon.

With the brand name inscribed on the back as if the company just couldn't help pointing out that _they_ had the honor of setting the king's table.

 _That'll work._  
  
"Argentum," he blurted out, snapping his gaze back to King Regis. "Uh, Prompto Argentum. Your Majesty."  
  
Okay, so maybe it wasn't the best idea. Maybe it was an awful idea. Maybe it was the worst idea he'd ever come up with--but dammit, they'd brought him here for this mission, so he felt completely justified in adding, " _Captain_ Argentum."  
  
Because come on--no one would buy that the emperor had brought some no-name, no-title, know-nothing grunt with him to such an important occasion. Really, he was doing them a favor by playing it up just a little. Loqi could always ream him for it later.  
  
It was hard not to second guess himself, though, especially considering the fact that he hadn’t seen any officers in Lucis that weren’t at least a little older than him yet. _Captain_ may not have been such a lofty title, but it would still have been one pretty sweet accomplishment at his age. Then again, his commander was practically pre-pubescent (in more ways than one), so maybe it wasn’t too hard to swallow after all. Plus, the prince wasn’t too far off his age, right?

Captain Argentum it was, then.

King Regis merely inclined his head in recognition before turning back to the emperor to remark, "Your captain will indeed be in excellent hands, although for his purposes, he will be limited to my son's ventures within the confines of the Wall. We can, of course, arrange for you to visit the outer territories yourself while you are here."

“Of course,” Prince Noctis began, deciding to chime in on his father’s statement, “he’ll also have Ignis and Gladiolus to aid in his education, as well. I’m pretty sure we’ll have him well-versed in no time.” “Perhaps my _captain_ will be able to offer something to your dear prince,” Loqi drawled, his tone making Prompto cringe inwardly. “I suppose one so sheltered as Noctis would benefit greatly from knowledge outside of his comfortable bubble. Prom here is one of our finest, having seen to various uprisings in several territories.

 _Don't react... Don't react..._  
  
Prompto knew that little comment was uttered on purpose--of course it was. Loqi never did anything without expecting to get something out of it. Unlike the rest of them, he was constantly blabbing about how the House Tummelt was a thousand times better than all of them and that he would bring them glory. It got pretty old, Prompto couldn't lie there. He'd never say anything about it, knowing that any number of punishments would be waiting for him if he did, but the desire to shove his commander's face in his soup was suddenly overwhelming.  
  
He'd have to swallow the embarrassment, as always. Using that stupid nickname was just payback for him being a smart ass. Yup, he'd brought it on himself, so he didn't have much room to get upset about it.  
  
It still stung, though.  
  
At least he wasn’t the only one feeling it. Talking shit at a diplomatic dinner, making jabs at their royal host’s expense, being generally insufferable... Prompto thought the whole point of bringing him here was to give him a shot at killing the prince. Now? Yeah, at this rate, he would be lucky if they didn’t all get executed before he had a chance to finish his soup.  
  
For now, he had a sole priority: lay low and look innocent. If Loqi wanted to get him killed by being a total jerk, then Prompto was going to do everything he could not to play right into his hands.

Apparently, the prince’s Shield didn’t mind doing just that. 

"Sheltered?" he snorted, frowning at Loqi the way Prompto imagined he would a piece of gum that had gotten stuck on his shoe. "You sure you got the right intelligence there?"

Loqi aimed an unimpressed stare at Gladiolus, musing, “I merely meant he must not get out of the Citadel much. Your job must be an easy one.”

“I have ways of making it difficult for him,” Prince Noctis noted, stiffening in his seat. His intervention was probably for the best: for a moment, Prompto legitimately wondered whether Gladiolus might kill someone--probably Loqi--before dinner was over. With everyone imitating a pack of wild voretooths, Prompto wouldn’t have been surprised if he did. 

When he glanced up at the head of the table to gauge what the king thought of all this, it was to find that the latter was trying not to smile at the barbs being traded back and forth across the table. Instead of reprimanding them for their behavior, however, he simply interjected, "What I believe Gladiolus is attempting to intimate is that Noctis is quite experienced in his own right. We have been fortunate to have never experienced uprisings amongst our people, so while that knowledge is indeed to be commended, it may not be to our benefit to focus on such matters."

A barb it was, yet King Regis nodded respectfully in Prompto's direction as though his words weren't meant to illustrate the biggest difference between their nations: that Lucis was a land of weakness while Niflheim was one that took what they wanted without worrying about the consequences. In their situation, it was necessary to subdue their own citizens so that they didn’t upset the fragile balance that kept them all fed and clothed--at least, that was what Prompto had learned when he was a kid. Yeah, it stunk that they had to occasionally burn a village or fire a few alleged warning shots into a crowd, but it was how they kept their society together. There was no changing it, so why bother getting upset?  
  
Prompto had much bigger things to worry about, like the disappointment he felt when King Regis motioned for the servers to take away the current course, and the room burst into movement as plates were removed to make way for others. Turning back to the emperor as if he hadn’t just cracked Prompto’s heart in two (He wasn’t done!), Regis inquired kindly, "How long does Your Radiance intend to remain with us following the cessation of negotiations?"

“I’m afraid we will not able to stay long. I have, of course, left the empire in capable hands, but it would be remiss of me not to return as soon as possible,” the emperor answered, sounding as if he was not at all dismayed by the idea. Aldercapt sneered at the server who took his dish, though Prompto knew full well that the arrogant attitude was just his default expression. “However, we will be leaving Promlo here for a time after our departure.”

“Prompto,” Prince Noctis corrected in an amicable tone.  
  
Aldercapt cleared his throat, apparently having heard but deciding to ignore the interjection. “It would be unfortunate if he were not to spend as much time learning from the prince as possible.”

Learning? Oh yeah, Prompto was already learning a ton. For example, he was learning just how quickly a dinner could shift from bad to worse. The momentary shock of Prince Noctis actually remembering his name had abated, and now he was simply watching the exchange with his mouth partially open in a curious sort of horror. From the looks of things, no one else at the table appeared any more comfortable with the situation than he did. 

The prince's Shield looked ready to tear Loqi's eyes from their sockets, and the king didn't seem like he'd even bother to stop him. Instead of hopping the table using those giant tree trunks he probably called _arms_ , Gladiolus leaned back in his seat in a way that made him seem much taller than... Uh, actually, Prompto wouldn't even finish that thought. The guy was big enough as it was. Prince Noctis's sarcasm was all that appeared to settle his tame behemoth, and Ignis was too busy thinking to react much from the looks of things.  
  
Needless to say, it was a miracle when a plate was set roughly in front of him by a server who didn't seem to like having to wait on one of the empire’s finest. At this point, Prompto couldn't even blame them.  
  
His attention was diverted from the spectacle the imperial envoys were making of themselves when he glanced down and blinked at the course that couldn't possibly be what he thought. There was no way they'd be serving _skewers_ at a royal function... Right?  
  
Wrong. That was exactly what it was: meat and little tomatoes speared on a stick. Normally, he would have grabbed it and dug right in, but it felt like a trap. He'd heard that skewers counted as street food, yet he somehow didn't think he was supposed to use his hands.  
  
So, he chose the path that was least likely to land him in trouble. Making a show of straightening his napkin where he'd taken the example of setting it in his lap, Prompto discreetly watched Ignis to see how he did it. Surely the prince's chamberlain would never trick him into humiliating himself.

He was proven correct when, after a brief glance at the meal, Ignis took up his fork to slide a piece of meat and tomato off the end of the skewer. Ugh, why did the Lucians have to get so fancy about this? It would have been so much easier to just bite off each piece--that was why they called it _bite-sized_ , right? Sheesh, these royals made no sense at all.

Which, of course, was why Prompto frowned to see two extra tomatoes land on Ignis’s plate. 

“Noct,” Ignis murmured in a low, warning voice.  
  
Prince Noctis wasn’t visibly bothered by Ignis’s scolding tone as he continued to place each bite of tomato between the hunks of meat where he apparently believed they belonged.

If the prince’s behavior attracted King Regis’s attention, however, he was definitely good at hiding it. While Prompto struggled to imitate Ignis’s motions, he glanced over to see that the king was calmly cutting into his own skewer as though this was something he ate on a daily basis.

"I hoped to offer you an experience to sample the cuisines of your new territories," he explained casually to Aldercapt, prodding a cube of meat off the skewer with his fork. "This is a delicacy from the village of Galahd. I'm certain you will find their culture to be fascinating indeed upon your official acquisition."

Aldercapt didn’t even try to make it look like he appreciated that, poking at the skewer with his fork in disgust. So, without fail, Loqi appeared to take that as a cue to do the same.

“I suppose serving their betters carnival food is one of the things we shall endeavor to change about the territory,” Aldercapt noted, picking up the skewer and inspecting it as if he expected it to be riddled with disease. “Though, I suppose it is… _quaint_.” 

“Fitting,” Prince Noctis muttered only loud enough for those right near him to hear, “seeing as this entire dinner is a circus.”

Okay, Prompto had to try _really_ hard not to laugh at that. He ended up failing just a little, snorting inelegantly into his fist. The sound was muffled enough that _his_ betters wouldn't hear, at least, but he avoided looking at the other side of the table in case they were waiting for an opportunity to accuse him of making fun. Admittedly, that had been a pretty good point; he couldn't have said it better himself if he tried. He'd never been to a diplomatic function before, yet his expectations had been pretty different. A gil for some professionalism, maybe?

What was even more shocking was that the prince managed a half grin at Prompto’s reaction to his words, clearly pleased that at least someone found him amusing. Ignis had responded with an inconspicuous scowl, or maybe that had been for all the tomatoes he had dropped on his plate. Prompto couldn’t be too sure. 

"Traditions in Lucis are indeed quite different, as are the qualifications that must be met for one to be considered another's _better_ ," the king retorted coldly, his calm monotone never wavering. Before the emperor could react, Regis continued, "If this dish is not to your liking, I can have you brought a different course. Pickled garula livers are an acquired taste, but they are quite a bit more appropriate for individuals of your elevated positions."  
  
Prompto didn’t need to be a Lucian to know that that was a total lie: it sounded like the most heinously disgusting dish in existence, although Prompto figured that King Regis didn’t give two shits about the emperor's culinary opinion right now. His son, who was discreetly disposing of his vegetables, was less disrespectful to their chefs than any of his fellow envoys had been.  
  
That made it a little more understandable when Prompto noticed that Gladiolus looked like he would rather grind the emperor--and the rest of them, actually-- _into_ pickled garula livers. Fortunately, that would have been frowned upon beyond the simple fact that it would extend this war further.

_Whew!_

Prompto could have breathed a sigh of relief when the emperor and his commander had no further complaints on the subject. He guessed that was only to be expected, though: they were a bunch of blowhards, but they weren’t stupid. If it was a matter of swallowing their pride or something that was borderline inedible, they definitely had their priorities in order. With any luck, that would be the end of their petty squabbles for one night.

Sure enough, the rest of the dinner proceeded about as well as anyone could expect given the way it had started. The emperor passed on the pickled livers but picked at every other course with about as much grace and dignity as a snotty five-year-old. Or, at least, that had been Prompto’s opinion on the matter, although he would have been happy with just about anything at this point. All the food tasted so amazing to him that he couldn’t find one thing to complain about.  
  
After dessert, both leaders retired to their quarters first, leaving the rest of the guests to slowly file out at their leisure. That meant Prince Noctis wasted no time in getting to his feet, heading for the door without so much as a nod for his retainers to follow him. It must have been nice, being royalty and expecting everyone else to figure out what you wanted. Prompto wouldn’t have known anything about that, though.  
  
Ignis didn’t get up as hastily as the prince had, watching him go with something like disappointment if Prompto had to guess. It faded as quickly as it came, though, and then he was addressing Prompto: “I shall be by in the morning to escort you to your shadowing of His Highness. You’ll have to excuse me for now. If you need help back to your room, one of the guards shall see to it. Sleep well,” he added before heading off after Prince Noctis.

"G-gotcha," Prompto replied a little less eloquently than he probably should have. Then again, that wasn't the worst transgression he'd committed in the same breath: it would have been more acceptable for him to have gotten to his feet so he could bow to the prince before he made his escape.

The only problem was that getting up at all wasn't really on his to-do list. Most of the attendees had cut and run as soon as it was appropriate, leaving just a few milling about to whisper words of gossip as though they hadn’t all been present for the travesty that was this banquet. That train wreck of a meal had given them plenty of material, at least. Unlike them, however, Prompto was pretty sure if he so much as moved, he'd fall over. Five courses was... It...  
  
Never in his life would he have thought he'd say that he'd eaten _too much_ food.  
  
Overdoing it was a given with dishes like these, though, so he couldn't feel too bad about it when he finally eased himself out of his seat and waddled towards the door. In Niflheim, they were used to having one tasteless bar of nutritional supplements a day. They weren't the most filling, especially by the time you'd done ten hours of hard training, but they kept him and his unit healthy. That was all they needed, right? Couldn't go out and fight for the empire any other way.  
  
This food, though? Prompto wished they were fed like that every day, although he repeatedly reminded himself that he shouldn't. Wishing for things he'd never get was stupid, and besides, being weighed down by so much meant he wouldn't be as effective a soldier. That didn't bother him, but the consequences _did_ .  
  
_No more bathroom floors--nuh uh!_

...Okay, maybe _one_ more bathroom floor: the one Prompto found himself kneeling on as soon as he returned to his room and all that rich food rebelled against him. It was a pity to see it coming back up and spilling into the toilet (which was so nice that he felt terrible for even touching it let alone throwing up in it), but he figured it was his own fault for the appetizers...

The salad...  
  
Soup...  
  
Skewers...  
  
Pasta...  
  
Cake...  
  
Pulling his face out of the toilet, Prompto grinned. "Worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For more from each of us, please check out our individual pages at [roguehearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted) and [The_Asset6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6).
> 
> For updates on our stories, together or separate, feel free to follow us on Tumblr at wildrogueheart.tumblr.com and theasset6.tumblr.com


	4. Equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have started something different with the format and POVs that we hope that you will like. We are currently in the process of converting the previous chapters to this new style. Chapter one is done and revised for your enjoyment now. Two and three will be ready with the next update on 12/12. Enjoy and thanks for your patience!

Noctis followed along behind Gladio as he led the way up to his chambers, the latter clearly fighting back the towering temper that he'd at least been able to tamp down while they finished dinner with the heathens they were hosting. His self-control lasted long enough not to earn Ignis’s ire, but only just. His chamberlain had caught up to them at the elevator and surprisingly offered nothing more than a small frown of disapproval at their hasty exit. Knowing him, it wasn’t that he didn’t _understand_ their current temperament, but more that he had hoped they would have both taken greater caution to conceal it better. Oh, well. Couldn’t please everyone.

Once they were safely tucked away from the Niflheim contingent, however, it looked like Gladio felt no further compunction to hold back.

"The hell were they thinking, bitching like that the night before the negotiations?" he burst out, pacing the room. "So they won the war--doesn't mean they get to waltz in like they own the place."  
  
Noctis groaned in wordless agreement as Gladio tossed his tie on the floor, watching Ignis pick it up and lay it neatly on the dresser in silence. It figured: they were in the middle of a crisis of epic proportions, yet Ignis was still worried about the state of his room. As Noctis planted himself face first into his bed, waving a hand so his chamberlain would know that he was still awake and listening, he let the conversation flow around him. How they weren’t feeling as physically and emotionally drained from the evening as he was, Noctis would never know.  
  
“I suppose they feel it is their _right_ to act in such a manner, given that they _did_ indeed win the war,” Ignis remarked. Noctis raised his head and met him with a petulant stare, at which he continued, “I am not saying that they are correct in doing so, but that is neither here nor there. What’s done is done, and we can’t let our anger get the better of us.”  
  
“So, we should smile while they just step on us? Got it,” Noctis answered bitterly, the latter half of his comment muffled by the mattress as he dropped his head back down.  
  
“Noct, the emperor and commander’s insults are not your concern. Your focus needs to be on Prompto.”

Okay, so they were apparently having _this_ conversation tonight instead of tomorrow when he had the patience for it. Noctis sat up with another groan, eyeing Ignis curiously. To his knowledge, the Niff soldier hadn’t done anything overly offensive during the dinner, not in comparison to the rest of his company. There _was_ that super formal manner in which Prompto had greeted him, but in retrospect, Noctis wasn’t sure he could blame him for it. That was the most respect he had gotten from the Niffs all night, even if he found it weird.  
  
“There is something _off_ about him, though I am not entirely sure how to place it,” Ignis explained. “Noct, I would advise that you do your best to befriend him and see if we might be able to procure some answers. You’ll find that most are more willing to communicate honestly when they don’t feel threatened by individuals of a certain status.”  
  
Noctis frowned a bit, tracing the pattern on his bedspread. He wasn’t sure what would make him any less intimidating than Ignis, but… Well, actually, maybe he could think of one or two things. Or ten. Anyway, it wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea _entirely_ ; it was just that he felt he lacked the finesse to make friends with someone as a farce. He couldn’t even make friends the _normal_ way, so what exactly was Ignis expecting him to do here?

“And what do _you_ think of all this?” he asked, glancing over at Gladio to buy himself some time.

"What do _I_ think?" Gladio snorted, making it pretty clear that his side of things wouldn’t be quite as calm and analytical as Ignis’s.

_Go figure._

“What I _think_ is that the little captain is just as sleazy as that bitch that calls himself a commander. You can’t trust a Niff, no matter how _off_ they seem,” he added with a scathing glance at Ignis.  
  
Admittedly, Noctis had gone into this dinner feeling the same way, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered the possibility that he would be getting himself in a mess of trouble if he went with Ignis’s suggestions. He’d always been a great advisor--the best, really--but that didn't mean he was always right. Diplomacy was more his area of expertise: figuring out secrets, not rocking the boat, getting people to talk or become allies or basically get anything else out of them that Noctis might need. That was all well and good, and Noctis appreciated everything he did, but he also knew that Gladio’s priorities usually pushed him in a totally different direction--namely, not letting him get anywhere near the line of fire. There was no avoiding it at this point, not when the enemy was living alongside them, yet Gladio had made it clear while they were dressing for dinner that he didn’t want Noctis stepping any closer to danger than he already had to. It stung a little at first, given that he had long since learned to take care of himself, but Noctis could see why Gladio wouldn’t want to risk anything just to be safe.  
  
After an evening of tiptoeing around the Niffs, it looked like he wasn't in a mood to sugarcoat or temper his obvious disapproval. Instead, Gladio rolled his sleeves up and planted himself in the middle of the floor with his hands on his hips. His glare was pointed when he added, "What I think is that kid's a few pom-poms short of a moogle, but he's still one of _them_. You can't trust 'im, whether he laughs at your jokes or not."

Noctis flinched at that observation. He had been hoping that small moment of one-sided camaraderie had gone unnoticed, but apparently it had been obvious enough for Gladio to have taken offense to it.

“Right,” he muttered, feeling even more uncomfortable with his own behavior now. “But--”  
  
“I was not suggesting that he could be _trusted_ ,” Ignis cut in, frowning in the face of Gladio’s accusations. “You have not had the chance to speak with him directly yet. I am not wholly convinced of his current standing within the empire, and I believe there may be ways to use that to our advantage, provided I am correct in my thinking.”  
  
“You don’t think he’s a captain?” Noctis quickly asked. He was more than willing to put Gladio’s last observation behind them in favor of examining Prompto’s supposed title.

Being a captain seemed like an odd thing to lie about. Besides, why would the empire bring someone with no rank, even if it _was_ a bit unorthodox to have brought a soldier at all? Still, there _had_ been a level of oddness in Prompto’s introduction, and Noctis couldn’t bring himself to find him as threatening as Gladio implied.  
  
Ignis seemed to agree, although he didn’t answer right away. Rather, he thought for a moment, his expression twisted into that look he always got when his brain was going ten times faster than his mouth and he didn’t want to risk saying something when he hadn’t quite reasoned it through yet. _Typical Specs._

“It is hard to say,” he eventually admitted. “His title isn’t truly of any concern, to be honest.”  
  
Noctis supposed that was a fair enough point, and it wasn’t as if they knew how much weight the rank of _captain_ held over there anyway. Shrugging noncommittally, he motioned for Ignis to get on with whatever else he clearly wanted to say now that he’d put his mind to it.  
  
“The fact that he is a _Niff_ \--as you so eloquently put it, Gladio--is all the more reason we should take measures to bring him in as close as possible. If his rank indeed carries weight, he may have some information that we could use in these negotiations that might otherwise be lost to us if we were to act through belligerent intimidation.”

Belligerent intimidation? That sounded like Gladio to a tee, although if the sudden reddening of his cheeks was anything to go by, he wasn’t quite thinking the same thing. And really, Noctis thought he could see why: the way Ignis made it sound, Noctis would think _he_ was more of a bad guy than the _actual_ ones--the ones who were lounging on the other side of the Citadel, basking in the glory of Lucis's defeat. If Ignis was trying to get Gladio on his side regarding Prompto, that probably wasn’t the best way to do it.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I get it," scoffed his Shield, not moving an inch from his standoffish position. "Gotta play nice and reel him in before sinking your hooks in him. Whatever. I'm not talking about getting information you can take back to the king--I'm talking about protecting his _son_. Or did you forget that part of the job while you were busy being tour guide to Aldercapt's pet?"

Noctis swallowed hard but didn’t interject. If he did, he knew he was more likely to get plowed over by one of them than actually convince them of anything. It wasn’t often that Gladio and Ignis didn’t see eye to eye on matters, and even when they did, Noctis found that they were pretty quick to reach a reconciliation that suited both of them. _This_ was apparently not one of those times. In fact, Noctis wasn’t sure he had seen the two of them get so heated with each other before, and the fact that he was at the center of it only served to make him feel worse. They shouldn’t be fighting like this. They both had good points--surely they could find a nice middle ground that worked?  
  
Noctis didn’t relish the idea of just imitating a doormat while they decided what to do, but there was no denying that they had one hell of a fork in the road ahead. Leaving an opening for Prompto to exploit was dangerous, but being too guarded around their guest meant he wouldn’t be able to get any information out of him in turn.

Which meant nothing to report to his dad. It was tough to shake off the idea of _that_ disappointment.

It was like walking a tightrope, and whichever way he leaned, he was going to fall off. Prompto didn’t seem too awful, but Noctis figured saying that out loud would only piss Gladio off more, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. Besides, he had a point about the whole _Niff_ thing. Ignis definitely didn’t _disagree_ , but...  
  
“I should think,” Ignis retorted, his voice indicating that his patience was being tested, “that finding out what his plan is qualifies as an integral part of keeping Noct safe, more so than maintaining a physical presence, even. Perhaps you forgot that while you were too busy trying not to stab a fork between the emperor’s eyes.”

Narrowing his own, Gladio shot back, “Better him than Noct, if _that’s_ what this little creep is here for.”  
  
“Were you even observing Prompto this evening, or were you still too angry about the slights the commander was tossing in your direction?”  
  
Noctis cringed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Pretty sure there has to be a way we can do this that falls between friendship bracelets and beating the ever-loving crap out of him,” he muttered weakly.

His half-hearted protest fell on deaf ears. Taking a _middle road_ wasn’t Gladio’s style on a normal day, so it was impossible to think that he was going to go for it now. Plus, he was too busy fuming over the idea that he’d let a few insults get in the way of doing his job--Noctis could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders and the way he was glaring at Ignis as though he might just decapitate him on the spot. His clearly thinning temper already had him stalking forward a few steps until he was right in Ignis’s face.

"You're damn right, I was watchin' him," he practically growled. "Not much to see 'cept a kid who's too big a coward to open his mouth and take a side. But he'll sit here and eat our food as if he wouldn't sooner have killed every one of us on a battlefield somewhere."  
  
If he was being honest, that was the part that worried Noctis the most. Ignis didn’t exactly want them to make friends with the guy, but he was definitely advocating in that general direction. It was hard to fathom when Prompto was the enemy, when he would have done everything in his power to make sure they were six feet under a month ago before the armistice had been solidified. It didn't matter whether he was a captain or a commander or one of the nameless, faceless grunts the empire had no shortage of--he would've been out for their blood, just like the Kingsglaive would have been out for his. For all they knew, as unlikely as it seemed, he still might be. That wasn't someone Noctis imagined Gladio would let him get close to; it was someone he’d keep at arm's length as much as possible.

Ignis, ever the logical one, merely countered, “We aren’t _on_ a battlefield, Gladio. That ship has sailed.”  
  
Shaking his head incredulously, Gladio automatically demanded, "You really think playing nice with this Niff is gonna make him any more willing to tell us what he knows when his endgame might mean one or all of us ending up dead? Sure, Iggy. You keep tellin' yourself that."

“And what _sense_ is there in ensuring that he sides with _them_?” Ignis shot back. “Like it or not, Noct is going to have to spend time with him, and you will be doing yourself no favors by making the task more difficult for the both of you.”

“Since when is _doing my job_ making things difficult?” he scoffed, although Ignis didn’t deign to answer. He chose a different approach instead.

“You actually believe concentrating your anger on someone whose name the emperor can’t even recall will help matters? This is not a shoot first, ask questions later situation, Gladio.”

That didn’t help. That didn’t help _at all._

Okay, this was getting them nowhere. Neither of them were willing to cede any ground, and if Noctis was reading the terrain correctly ( given how long Ignis had been drilling that sort of thing into his head, he figured he was), this wasn’t going away anytime soon. Plus, Noctis had heard enough for one night. In his opinion, they both had good points, but neither seemed to want to consider what the other was saying. It was only a matter of time before someone said something they would regret, and Noctis did not want it to come to that--not over him.  
  
Tomorrow, he’d be expected to interact with Prompto, and if he wanted to make both his friends happy, Noctis would be forced to alternate between friendly diplomacy and thinly veiled sarcasm. Prompto was likely to think he was insane.

 _Yeah, we’re done here._  
  
“Look,” Noctis sighed, taking the chance to cut through their bickering while Gladio tried to think of a retort, “I’m going to take a walk. I just need a minute to myself.”

He headed straight for the door, hoping that would be enough indication that he didn’t want any protest on the matter as he added, “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t follow me.”

His tone was colored by a mixture of exhaustion and frustration that he didn’t bother to hide. While his words were straightforward, however, it wouldn’t take a genius to hear the unspoken _don’t rip each other’s heads off_ that should have been apparent to his closest friends. Whether they continued to lay into one another while he was gone was none of his business, just as long as he didn’t come back to discover that he needed to ask his dad for two new retainers. He had enough to worry about as it was.

Sighing, Noctis shook his head in the deafening silence as the door fell shut behind him. He needed to clear their voices out of his mind. He needed to talk to someone else--someone  tough but fair. So, making up his mind, Noctis huffed and headed down the hallway. Only one person fit the bill. He would just have to hope they were still awake at this hour.

 

***

 

"What an _outrageous_ display!" Regis exclaimed, roughly unbuckling the fastening of his mantle and yanking it off.  
  
Now that he was alone with Clarus away from prying eyes, there was no use in hiding his disgust with their guests anymore. Maintaining some semblance of pretense with the imperial envoys was necessary, but there were limits even for Regis. Decades of honing his abilities and perfecting the art of diplomacy had not prepared him for an entire meal with one of the most insufferable individuals he'd ever had the misfortune of entertaining. No, it had not been one, but _two_. Most of the members of their enemy's contingent had held their tongues, understanding how tenuous a grip on the armistice they were truly dealing with. The emperor and his pathetic commander? They were not competent enough to rule a nation let alone broker peace.  
  
"Were it not for the negotiations, I would have been sorely tempted to act in a manner unbefitting a king," he admitted as he dumped his ornamentation on his bed and sank down into an armchair.

“Personally, I would have suggested killing one of them at dinner. It certainly wouldn’t have made it any less awkward for everyone involved,” Clarus commented, much to Regis’s grim amusement. It had not been difficult to tell that his Shield came close several times, and had it not been for the example he was trying to set for his son, Regis thought on a few occasions that he might have.  
  
Niflheim had been testing their boundaries with every seemingly offhand comment, not unlike a small child prodding to determine what they could accomplish without courting trouble. And they had accomplished a great deal this evening.  
  
There was little that Regis could do but grin and bear it for the time being, especially now that the empire saw fit to put one of their own in direct contact with Noctis. If not for that unfortunate condition of their stay, he would have been sorely tempted to seat the emperor and his--what was the phrase Noctis insisted on using? _Crummy little toadie_ \--at a children’s table where they belonged.  
  
It was difficult to take risks, however, when your enemy was dangling in front of you the one thing you cared for more than anything in the world.  
  
“I daresay they do not deserve your good will,” Clarus continued after a moment, eliciting a chuckle from Regis.

“You and I both know that benevolence has nothing to do with it.”

That much was true enough: with so few choices available to them, enduring unremarkable insults was but a base exercise, even preparation for what was to come. After all, the real test of their fortitude was not to be found in the dinner, regardless of how trying it had indeed been. No, their true obstacle would be the negotiations. The emperor could behave in as petty a manner as he liked with his snide comments about Regis’s health and the customs of their acquired territories, but he would not be able to bully his way to a completed treaty.

“Quite. I will nevertheless admit that their soldier and their insistence that he shadow Prince Noctis troubles me. Given their behavior this evening, I hardly believe they wish to learn any traditions.”

Humming, Regis nodded in response. That was no surprise. He wished that he had the luxury of not needing to consider such troubling denouements; what he wouldn't give to enter into these negotiations with even a modicum of certainty that peace could indeed be achieved without a great many trials.  
  
Instead, he'd spent the entire dinner cataloging the emperor's every move, every smarmy assertion, every _glance_ in his son's direction. There had been more of the lattermost than he cared to reflect upon, a realization that set his nerves alight in anxious anticipation of what the future held.  
  
Knowing that his Shield would not think less of him for a momentary weakness, Regis covered his face with a hand and confided in him, "It is that which I fear more than any potential mishaps with regards to the negotiations. Emperor Aldercapt's obsession with Noctis's movements is unsettling at best. What innocent purpose could he possibly have in placing him under surveillance?"  
  
There was no denying that that was precisely what it was: the emperor wanted Noctis to be followed, to be _watched_. The question was _why_.

“I suppose he may be under the impression that you encourage Noctis to participate in more affairs than you actually do,” Clarus suggested. “It is possible that the emperor believes someone younger and less experienced may be more prone to mistakes.”

That seemed to be the obvious answer, especially when Regis remembered the relentless jeers they had directed at Noctis and, more frequently, his capabilities. If that was the case, then he could at least take solace in the fact that the emperor must have left the table surprised by how well his son had carried himself.

Even so…

“I find it unlikely, considering the circumstances, that such a simple answer is the correct one,” mused Regis, sighing heavily. It was never so easy when the empire was involved. If it were, this war would have ended long ago.

Clarus grunted in acknowledgement before replying, “I concur. It is more likely that he means to distract you.”

If that was Aldercapt’s goal, then Regis was ashamed to admit that he had succeeded. Although he had no children of his own, he would have to be blind not to see how painstakingly Regis had attempted to divert his attention from his son. Not for the first time, he mentally rebuked himself for wearing his heart so clearly on his sleeve at dinner. He would need to be more cautious around their guests if they intended to use such underhanded methods in achieving whatever ends they sought. Ordinarily, that was no harrowing feat; where Noctis was concerned, however, he had always suffered a blind spot.

Either his thoughts were obvious or his Shield simply knew him too well, because Clarus wasted no time in assuring him, “I shall see to it that Gladiolus is with Noctis at all times. We will do all that we can to see to it that he is well protected.” In an obvious attempt to bolster his confidence, he added, “Fortunately, this evening has proven that your son manages quite well in taking up for himself.”

Regis smiled slightly in thanks and agreement, but the sting of his Shield's reminder lingered. As Clarus had observed, he did not include Noctis in his governance much of the time; for many years, it had been obvious that his son was less enthusiastic with the idea of ruling than Regis was at his age. What was the point in forcing him to assume a role he was not prepared for when necessity did not require it yet? None, at least not where Regis was concerned. He had neglected so many considerations with regards to his son's welfare for no other reason than that he had other responsibilities as king. If the best he could do by Noctis was allow him the gift of time before he had to lay aside his identity to assume another, then he would without question.  
  
Now that they had fallen into this predicament, however, Regis couldn't help wondering if he had made a mistake. They were fortunate that the empire would be unable to glean much information from Noctis due to his lack of involvement to this point, but he also felt that he had left his son unequipped for the trials that lay ahead in taking such a lackadaisical approach to his studies. His own father would be rolling in his grave at Regis's transgression.  
  
But Clarus was right about one thing: whether because of or in spite of his actions, Noctis _was_ capable. He _was_ strong enough to manage his own affairs and stand on his own two feet, with or without Regis. That was something to be celebrated.  
  
"He does indeed," replied Regis with a small, proud grin. "To engage in such an exchange with both the emperor of Niflheim _and_ his commander was quite a feat. That he was able to do so in a diplomatic manner brings me great pride."  
  
It also eased a bit of his guilt at having allowed Noctis to come this far with little formal training, but there was no need to waste words on such things. Clarus knew him well enough to realize it for himself.

In an attempt to lighten the mood somewhat, Regis quirked an eyebrow in wry amusement and added, "Gladiolus performed rather impressively as well. I thought it likely that he would disembowel Emperor Aldercapt right there at the table."

“I doubt that anything of the sort would have even spoiled dinner all that much,” Clarus noted in good humor. “However, it would appear that Gladiolus has his sights set on taking out the commander first. If you can really call such a bratty child a commander.”

“It does appear that the empire’s military operates under a rather different set of standards than our own defenders,” Regis observed, quite approving of his Shield’s disgust. It was hard to believe that while their own officers held themselves with an air of dignity, this young man had been reduced to slinging petty insults throughout the banquet. The fact that such abominable behavior appeared to be _encouraged_ by the emperor was all the more unsettling.

“I must admit,” sighed Clarus, his tone suddenly more serious as he eased the subject into different waters, “it worries me that they know so many of our weaknesses while we know so few of theirs.”

That _was_ rather a problem, one that Regis had been uncomfortably aware of in the emperor’s company. The Crystal’s effect on Regis’s health was not a closely guarded secret; it was simple enough to tell by looking at him. Still, the deeper their enemy’s knowledge regarding the inner workings of the Lucian government, the more opportunities they had to exploit them. Regis would have liked to think that they would not stoop to such underhanded levels, but he had little faith in their guests’ sincerity in spite of the reason behind their presence.  
  
“With such _curious_ visitors, perhaps Cor should see to increasing the number of guards near the Crystal itself.” Clarus’s recommendation drew him from his thoughts, and Regis nodded immediately.

"I agree. There is little likelihood that they will bother with it, and our present safeguards are extensive, but it does not do to court disaster. Have Cor double the guards for the duration of the envoys' stay."  
  
Although Regis did not seriously consider there to be a great threat to the Crystal, at least not at at present, there was no denying that not to do so would be to ignore a substantial threat. The Crystal was all the strength they had left in Lucis; it was the sole reason Regis was forfeiting lands and people rather than being executed alongside his son for daring to rule his own kingdom. Through the Crystal, he maintained the Wall, furnished the Kingsglaive's abilities, and ensured a future for Noctis. When the latter became king, those powers and responsibilities would pass to him--those that could already had. If anything happened to the Crystal, there would be nothing left to protect Insomnia from imperial aggression.  
  
If anything happened to the Crystal, he would sign all their death warrants.  
  
So, they would double the guard, triple it if necessary. Anything that kept Noctis safe was worth the effort and inconvenience.  
  
"Our guests made one thing clear tonight, Clarus," he sighed, forcing his thoughts away from such dark possibilities. "For one who so easily addresses the weaknesses in others, Emperor Aldercapt is not the pinnacle of strength he seems to think. His age and experience have made him reckless. He may well live to regret that."  
  
“Reckless though he may be, that still puts you at a rather large disadvantage,” Clarus rightfully pointed out. “Reckless leaders are unpredictable. We know not what he will do to preserve his image and the illusion of his strength. He is indeed insufferable, yet we cannot take him lightly no matter how lightly _he_ endeavors to take _us_.”  
  
Regis could tell that Clarus had more to say on the matter, but rather than continue, he glanced towards the door with a frown. Even straining his ears, Regis could hear nothing on the other side, although that was hardly a surprise. Clarus’s senses had always been more readily attuned to such things, which was an admirable trait in a Shield. In any case, the guards should have announced any visitor, especially when Clarus had informed them that he would not be entertaining any guests after the banquet. It was unlikely that they would have disobeyed direct orders, regardless of the circumstances.  
  
The unlikely, however, had a rather disconcerting tendency of rearing its head recently. Clarus turned back to him, realization crossing his features in spite of Regis’s confusion. It cleared a moment later when he announced, “I do believe your son wishes to speak to you.”

Ah, what a wonderful way to end an agonizing conversation. There were many things Regis knew he should probably say in response to his Shield's warnings--namely that he was aware and trusted Clarus with both his life and reputation--but they were all swept away at the thought that Noctis had come to see him. The door was closed, yet he did not doubt the keen ears of his closest friend; his own were not so sharp as they had once been, as with the rest of him.  
  
"Would you be so kind as to open the door for him, Clarus?" Regis asked after glancing at his cane. It would have been nice to greet his son on his own, yet his muscles protested before he had a chance to use them. The long and arduous task of entertaining their enemies all day had quite robbed him of his energy; indeed, the last few weeks of stressful deliberation regarding how the negotiations would be organized left him with few reserves beyond what strength he had in ingrained habits.  
  
To put it bluntly, Regis was exhausted. The only thing that could possibly pique his interest and ease his mind was currently standing outside his door, awaiting entry.  
  
Not wanting his dismissal to seem callous, Regis softened his tone when he recommended, "Perhaps it is best that you take some rest, old friend. There will be a great deal more of these trials to come."

“Of course. We can speak further on the matter tomorrow,” he agreed, opening the door in time for them both to witness Noctis’s attempt to sneak away unnoticed. “Ah, Prince Noctis. Your timing is excellent--I was just leaving. Do come in.”  
  
Noctis halted and turned to face them, looking as sheepish as a child caught plundering the proverbial cookie jar. In spite of Regis’s relief that he had come unbeckoned, his son averted his gaze to the floor and nodded mutely as he slipped past Clarus into the room. Once his Shield closed the door behind him, leaving them quite alone, Noctis appeared to scan the chamber for anything upon which he might focus his attention. The drapery to the left of Regis’s chair was quite attractive, he had to admit, yet he would have been more content if his son met his gaze instead.  
  
A moment passed where neither of them spoke, Regis preferring to allow Noctis to take the lead. When he did, his reticence made a great deal more sense.

“Sorry,” he muttered, keeping his eyes averted as he fidgeted with his collar. “I didn’t mean to intrude or anything. I can just go back...”

Shaking his head, Regis gestured towards the chair Clarus had vacated and hastened to encourage him, "Stay, Noct. Sit with me awhile. I would welcome the company."  
  
If he was being honest, his son's was the only presence he cared for at the moment. Clarus was his nearest and dearest friend, and their previous conversation was admittedly necessary; regardless, it was classified as business. Right now, Regis required an opportunity to decompress after the stress of the day. When he was younger and less prone to the doldrums that plagued him in the wake of the empire's victory, he had taken solace in what little time he'd been able to spare for his then much younger son. There was something calming about reading to him or driving him around Insomnia in the Regalia; sometimes, the only peace he could find was in watching his little boy sleep at night. He was not so little now, yet another thing that had been stolen from Regis over the years, but the calm that descended upon him in Noctis's company remained. In these quiet moments away from the threat of eavesdroppers, they could afford to be father and son, not king and prince. These were the times that he treasured most.  
  
And he would be damned if he gave Noctis the impression that he would rather sleep than spend what limited freedom they enjoyed together.  
  
"Your intrusion was conveniently timed," he continued without waiting for him to respond. Perhaps initiating a conversation would set Noctis more at ease. "Clarus and I were trapped in dull responsibility. It is long past the hour for such monotony, is it not?"

That must have been the appropriate combination of words and sentiment, because Noctis finally turned to face him before settling into the other armchair. A small smile played around his lips, and unless Regis was quite mistaken, he thought his son might have needed the same reprieve from their plight that he did.

“I think that time was about twenty minutes before dinner,” he replied, that little smirk widening into something more genuine. 

"If only that were true," Regis laughed heartily, suppressing a grimace at the memory. There had been few diplomatic dinners during his reign that had gone quite so terribly, and he doubted that their next encounter with the enemy contingent would be any different. As long as their interactions did not come to blows, however, he would consider it a successful venture.  
  
More successful than their current discussion, it seemed. Despite the gulf that had grown between them in recent years, Regis could easily discern that something was troubling Noctis this evening. He was positive that he could guess what it was, yet there were simultaneously so many potential stressors his son could be laboring under that he did not wish to assume. Instead, he leaned forward in his seat until he was close enough to put a hand on Noctis's shoulder.  
  
"It is unwise to suffer in silence, Noct," he murmured.

“It’s nothing really,” his son assured him, clearly attempting to mask an emotion Regis could not quite identify at first. It grew easier when Noctis reluctantly continued, “Ignis and Gladio got into a fight over how to deal with that guy who’s supposed to be shadowing me.”

Ah, Regis had wondered if it would be something like that. His son's retainers were so different in their beliefs that it would have been more concerning if they _hadn't_ disagreed. That was hardly the sentiment his son needed to hear from him right now, however, so Regis sympathetically inquired, “Is that so?”  
  
Letting out an exasperated breath, the floodgates seemed to burst open as Noctis explained, “Ignis wants to kill him with kindness, and I’m pretty sure Gladio just wants to kill him. I didn’t know which one to agree with, so I just left them to it and bailed.”

Noctis squirmed in a half-hearted shrug, dropping his eyes once again as though expecting Regis to berate him for abandoning his retainers to their argument. Quite to the contrary, he found himself attempting to hide his smile at the maturity Noctis had shown in doing just that. There were times, even and perhaps especially as king, when it was necessary to step back and allow those around you to debate amongst themselves. If Regis did not take advantage of that privilege every now and again, he would have gone mad long before the empire arrived. Considering the rather vast chasm that spread between Ignis and Gladiolus’s ideologies, he could only imagine how heated their interaction must have gotten, not to mention the discomfort Noctis must have suffered in witnessing that sort of behavior from his closest friends.  
  
Those differing viewpoints were what Regis had been grateful to see as the two had grown older, though: Noctis needed their opposing perspectives in order to learn how to compromise. Part of a monarch's duty was listening to the will of their people and making the decision that was best for everyone. That wasn't to say that the process was always clean and simple--quite the opposite. It took debating, it took flaring tempers, occasionally it even took violent arguments to communicate the dire nature of a situation.  
  
It just pained him that Noctis had to endure the trials of leading before his time.  
  
Hadn't that been his regret, though? Hadn't he wondered this very evening if he had allowed Noctis to escape those difficulties for too long?  
  
That his son had come to him when he found himself at a loss was comforting, to say the least. For years, he had been unable to maintain an active role in Noctis's life, especially when he chose to live away from home during his high school career. They had lost so many opportunities for closeness and the passing of knowledge--but no more. Their enemies were underfoot, and there was no telling what tomorrow would bring. If they only had tonight, then Regis would use it to their shared advantage.  
  
"That was likely the best decision for now," Regis reassured him with a nod. "Sometimes distance is the best way to gain perspective. Both Ignis and Gladiolus have excellent points: your position is one of great danger, but also undeniable opportunity."  
  
_Would that it were not so._  
  
He would have given anything to see Noctis safe, yet the universe appeared to be working against him in that regard.

Forcing himself past his grief at what might have been, Regis continued, "You must do what your heart dictates is right, whatever that might mean for anyone else. You have the strength to tread the path you find most suitable, and no one else can make that determination for you."  
  
With a bolstering smile, Regis squeezed his shoulder before leaning back in his seat. Despite his vote of confidence, however, it appeared that he had not managed to set Noctis’s mind at ease. Yet he did not continue in that vein as Regis anticipated, instead choosing to address another subject that he suspected weighed just as heavily on his mind.

“Well, what do _you_ think of him?” he asked, his motives obvious in his expression. As much as Regis would have liked to offer his own opinion to help his son form one, that was not the way to guide him towards independence.

“What I think carries little weight,” Regis chided gently.   
  
He hated himself the moment the words escaped his lips. Not for the first time, he wondered whether this was some sort of test: the Six were challenging him in the cruelest way possible, and he was loath to believe that they had no reason in doing so. That did not make it any easier to endure. Was this his fate, to watch his son vacillate without being able to help? It certainly seemed that way. How simple it would be to offer him advice, to hand him every one of Regis’s thoughts and dictate what he should do.  
  
As a king—as a _father_ —he could not.  
  
Noctis had to arrive at his own conclusions. His future and that of their kingdom depended on his ability to venture forth with his head held high, making the best judgment he could and not faltering in the face of his mistakes. If Regis shaped his perception for him, he would be doing Noctis a great disservice. He had done quite enough of that over the years; neither of them would benefit from more lost opportunities.  
  
With that in mind, Regis cautiously offered, “I confess that I found this _captain_ a most curious character. His lack of overt hostility _was_ refreshing, given the circumstances. But that matters not,” he added with a dismissive gesture. “What _is_ of importance is your own impression of his conduct.”

That was undoubtedly not the answer Noctis was looking for, and Regis could only hope that he would understand when he was older. That was so often the case: it was difficult to fathom one perspective when it was inherent to another’s duties. In the years to come, whether it was in his own experience or that of his children when the time arrived for him to produce an heir, Noctis would find himself in a similar situation and be forced to make a similar choice.

For now, he silently mulled over Regis’s neutral observations with a steadfast devotion that gave Regis confidence that he would come to the best possible conclusion. When he did speak, it was with the wisdom of one well beyond his years.

“This is probably stupid,” Noctis prefaced his thought, “but I don’t really feel all that threatened by him. Like, yeah, I get that I need to keep Gladio around and all, but he just seems like some guy.” Shrugging, he paused a moment before continuing, “I don’t want to just make friends with him for information like Ignis does. If I tried that, any idiot would know what I was up to and wouldn’t say anything. I don’t want to take Gladio’s advice either, though, ‘cause treating him the same way they were treating you isn’t gonna help.”  
  
Noctis glanced down despondently, utterly unaware of the proud smile that tugged at Regis’s lips as he muttered, “Figured I could just treat him like normal and see what happens, but that’s probably not going to get us anything.”

 _Wonderful. Absolutely perfect._  
  
For a moment, Regis was at a loss for words. He had always known, of course, that Noctis was intelligent. If it weren’t such an obviously biased opinion, he would have claimed his son was the smartest future monarch in the history of Lucis. (Instead, he kept the sentiment to himself.) To witness this thorough and complete sagacity from him, and at so young an age, at that... It was all he could have hoped for and so much more.  
  
_He will rule well when I am gone._  
  
It was a bittersweet thought at best, yet Regis could not bring himself to dread it the way he likely should have. No, he would never see the sort of king Noctis grew into; he would not have the honor of standing at his son’s side when he ascended the throne and solidified the beacon of hope he had always represented to their subjects. All of those developments would be beyond his sight, as was inherent in the nature of monarchies, but he _could_ cherish these brief glimpses into what the future held. From that more than anything else would he garner the courage and strength to combat their dreadful counterparts at every turn.  
  
This time, it was the father who would make his son proud.  
  
He would start in that instant, and Regis sat forward so that Noctis would have no choice but to meet his gaze. His muscles protested the effort, not that he would allow them to restrain him. Pain was fleeting; validation lasted evermore.

“You do not claim enough credit, Noct,” he rebuked him with a proud smile. “The choice is ultimately yours, but I do not believe it would be so remiss of you to treat your pupil as you would anyone else. To do so would not intimate the sense of insincerity you fear from Ignis’s advice, nor would it invite the hostility Gladiolus’s perspective might. In the end, _you_ are the future king, and this... _Prompto Argentum_ is the commoner. Under the command of such a formidable figure, I doubt he or any of his compatriots have known a great deal of _normality_.”  
  
If they did, he mused, it was very likely a sort that Lucians would not—perhaps _could_ not—understand. It was always possible that they were wrong, that this alleged captain meant more harm than it appeared at first glance. In the event that that was the case, Regis would sooner spear his head on a pike for all in Niflheim to see than allow him to injure Noctis in any way.  
  
In the event that that was the case, Gladiolus would have to beat him to the proverbial punch.

Contrary to his own confidence, Noctis looked more than a little surprised by his utter surety. That, however, was not what he commented on first.  
  
“ _Future_ king,” Noctis replied, putting as much emphasis on the _future_ as he could. Regis thought he understood why: after all the talk at dinner, the emperor appeared to be of the mind that Noctis would be taking the throne tomorrow. Sure enough, he hesitated a moment before remarking, “We’re still a pretty long way off from that.”

 _If the grace of the gods is indeed with us_ , prayed Regis in silence. Never in his life had he wished for more time with such tenacity.

Noctis did not need to trouble himself with such things, so he merely answered, “One should think that I have a good many years left, though it may disappoint Emperor Aldercapt to hear it.”

“Speaking of, I doubt _you_ will be able to handle your esteemed guest the same way I will,” Noctis joked, a calculating edge to the question.

Regis could tell that he sought to gauge his response, although he put forth his best effort to hide it. Astute though he might be, Noctis hadn’t the extensive experience with managing his emotions that Regis and all the kings before him had perfected. As such, it was a simple feat to maintain his unruffled demeanor as he leveled his son with a wry smirk.  
  
“I daresay _His Radiance_ is indeed set in his strange and rather obnoxious ways,” Regis agreed, quite glad that he could be candid in private company. “That may take a bit more...finesse.”  
  
Perhaps his assessment was a touch flippant, but Regis knew that Noctis would forgive him his sarcasm. After all, there was little possibility of them surviving the next few days if they did not retain some sense of humor.

“I guess next time you should probably make sure to have dinner before his bedtime,” Noctis offered as a suggestion, one that gave Regis no small amount of pleasure. His amused grin disappeared as quickly as it appeared, though, and he sighed heavily as his eyes once again found their way to the window. “You _really_ think I should be present at these negotiations?”

Well, that was quite the non sequitur. To Regis, it was a preposterous question: Noctis was to be his successor, and as such, he deserved to play an active role in shaping the kingdom he would someday inherit. Even so, there was also a truth behind his son's words that he hated to acknowledge.  
  
So he didn't.  
  
"I would have no one else at my side," Regis assured him with every ounce of sincerity he possessed. "Emperor Aldercapt no doubt views all of us as lesser men, whatever our station or experience. The only defense against a slight of that nature is proving him wrong."  
  
Of course, the emperor hadn't maintained his lofty position in the imperial hierarchy on the basis of name alone. His was neither a mind easily changed nor an opinion simply altered. That was not the purpose of the negotiations, anyway. What truly mattered was not what the emperor thought of _them_ , but of Lucis itself; their concern did not lie in personal reputation, but in ensuring that the people they were now surrendering to Niflheim were as thoroughly protected as possible. In that endeavor, Noctis _should_ be present.  
  
"Besides," he added, affecting an innocent expression, "I do believe it would be rather entertaining to watch Ignis eviscerate the treaty line by line, would it not?"

Something tender and vulnerable flashed across Noctis’s visage, but it vanished before Regis had the opportunity to decipher it. Rather, his features hardened into something more confident (or so it seemed) as he took a deep breath and nodded.

“You’re right. Probably end up worse if I’m not there or give the emperor something to talk about.”

"It would indeed," Regis agreed. To say that he was dreading the occasion was putting it mildly, but knowing that Noctis would be beside him provided some comfort. After all, signing away half his kingdom would protect his son's birthright; if all went according to plan, swallowing the disgrace this treaty would no doubt force upon him meant Noctis would never need to bear the burdens of a reign torn apart by war.  
  
Regis could endure the unendurable if it meant leaving a legacy his son could be proud of. It was worth it.  
  
With thoughts of their inevitable fate in mind, Regis glanced at the clock and sighed before leveling a sad smile in Noctis's direction. "I am afraid we will have to wait for tomorrow to fully appreciate what nonsense abounds. For now, however, I believe there is little else to do besides get some sleep and steel ourselves."  
  
He did not say _for the worst_ , but it was on the tip of his tongue.

Noctis nodded quietly, swallowing any arguments he might otherwise have voiced. “Yeah, you’re right.”

_Would that I were not._

Regis could do little more than watch with pride as Noctis slowly rose to his feet, glanced out the window, and fixed his bravest smile into place. “I should probably make sure Gladio and Ignis didn’t get too mad at each other after I left, anyway.”

"You may be the only one capable of keeping them from each other's throats," he murmured dryly. "I have faith in that."  
  
_And you._

He may not have voiced that sentiment, but he had no doubt that Noctis heard it all the same. It was evident in the way he bashfully ducked his head, so reminiscent of when he was a child that Regis ached to see it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Noctis evaded, his tone light enough to hide his self-consciousness but not the exhaustion Regis could spy in the depths of his gaze. Yes, he was indeed in need of rest.

They both were, as a matter of fact. Being king did not relieve Regis of his humanity; if anything, it made his fragile mortality all the more real.

The unsettling sensation of not knowing what was going to happen or how they would need to combat it drove Regis to his feet, and he leaned heavily on his cane as he reached forward to pull Noctis into a one-armed embrace. Perhaps his son would find it embarrassing or foolish or any number of things adult children believed of their parents' affection, but he was willing to court his irritation all the same.

As it turned out, he had no reason to fret. Seeming to sense how greatly he needed this, Noctis returned his embrace with equal fervor. For the hundredth time since Lucis had capitulated to the empire’s might, Regis recalled that _this_ was where he would find his strength. _This_ was how he would endure when the entire world seemed to crumble around them. If they had but tonight, Regis would not let it pass without reminding his son that no matter what happened come morning, the sole kingdom that mattered would always be in his heart.

If they had but tonight, then he would make it last, if only in his memory.


	5. War Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! As promised, we have a new chapter and the exciting news that all the other chapters have been updated to our new format. As such, there are some new surprises in different spots that you might like to see. With that, we hope you enjoy the new update, have plenty of tissues for Episode Ignis tomorrow, and have wonderful holidays if you celebrate! We'll see you again on December 26th!

If this meeting didn’t end soon, Prompto thought he was going to crawl out of his skin.  
  
What had started as a simpering snorefest of formalities and royal protocol had descended into something a lot more chaotic by the time they reached their seventh hour—not that Prompto was counting or anything. As with the banquet last night (which he was only slightly regretting), he hadn’t quite known what it would be like to be part of some huge international summit like this. Well, okay, he’d had a few expectations: he’d been expecting a little more professionalism than the understated free-for-all they’d dealt with at dinner, for starters.

At first, he hadn’t been disappointed. The imperial contingency had walked into the audience chamber in a flurry of white robes and splendorous greetings that would have made Prompto think the two nations were friends if he didn’t know any better.

That hadn’t fooled the Lucians, though. It had been easy to see that the prince’s Shield intended to stay glued to his side, as did his advisor, taking no chances on the envoys actually holding up their peaceful end of the bargain. Prompto knew he should have felt at least a little miffed about that, but hey, they had a point. It wasn’t like Prompto hadn’t been ordered to do some pretty underhanded stuff in the past to make sure he got the job done, after all.

Today, they were simply on their best behavior--or supposed to be. Emperor Aldercapt and King Regis had exchanged the typical pleasantries, much as they had when they’d first arrived the day before, and everything seemed normal if a bit out of place.  
  
Then they’d laid out the terms of the treaty on the long council table, and while all hell _didn’t_ break loose, they came about as close as they could get without inciting another war. It seemed like every single point had to be an argument, and not because the terms weren’t amenable at first glance—no, that would be too simple. The emperor just wanted to remind them who was wearing the pants here.  
  
He wanted to shut down trade between Insomnia and the outer regions. King Regis refused.  
  
King Regis wanted to maintain a military presence on the coast despite it technically being imperial territory. They refused.

Aldercapt wanted them to scratch his back and wipe his ass while serving him bon-bons on a silver platter. Well, maybe he was making that one up, but it sure felt that way by the time they were nearing the end of the negotiations—for _today_. There would be other meetings that week to solidify the terms once both sides had a chance to consider them, and the idea of standing here for this long listening to a bunch of whining babies again almost made Prompto cringe.

To his credit, he was at least successful in not making his boredom too obvious. He’d known it was going to be drawn out to almost annoying levels--basically anything in the government was--but sheesh, they could give a guy a break. He definitely needed one after the first couple of hours, although that may have had more to do with the fact that his stomach was still in knots after spending half the night on his bathroom floor. ( _Still worth it._ ) All that rich food definitely hadn’t agreed with him, and he was counting his blessings that there was nothing he had to do but stand there and look just as tough as Gladiolus. He didn’t exactly entertain the delusion that he came anywhere close to cutting that impressive and intimidating a figure, but hey, he was trying and hadn’t gotten any flack for his inadequacy yet. He’d take what he could get.  
  
If they wanted to move things along, though, he definitely wouldn’t argue. It was getting to the point where his back was aching from standing for so long, and he would have loved nothing more than to collapse into that giant cloud these Lucians called a bed and just stay there until tomorrow. That would have been way better than the constant bickering that was still shooting back and forth across the chamber as it had for too long already.  
  
He’d have thought it would be dinnertime by now—until he remembered the early start they’d gotten. Instead, the sunlight that poured in through the windows above them indicated it wasn’t even late in the afternoon, which was wasting away all for this stupid treaty.  
  
_Why can’t they just agree to something already?_

It was especially ridiculous when he remembered that the actual terms of the treaty didn’t actually matter to Aldercapt. If things went according to plan, any agreements they came to would be moot: Prince Noctis would be dead, and King Regis might very well follow him. Insomnia and the Crystal would belong to Niflheim, and stupid stuff like trade routes would be pointless. Aldercapt could have made the proceedings move a touch faster by just going along with the terms presented by Lucians, but where was the joy in that? Prompto was pretty sure that Aldercapt enjoyed nothing more than watching King Regis struggle and fight him at every turn--he had to get his jollies somewhere. Plus, the Lucians knew they had little with which to bargain, so it was sort of perfect.  
  
As annoyed as the king had to be getting, as tired of all this as he had to feel, Prompto didn’t miss any of the proud glances that he directed to his son throughout the day's proceedings. He _also_ didn’t miss the sneers and added taunts that Loqi was throwing his way just for the sake of it. Seriously, it was like his commander _wanted_ to piss them off enough to take it out on him once they left or something.

...Actually, there was no _or something_ about it. That was probably exactly what he wanted.

_Nice. That’ll make the job easier._

Well, it wasn’t like that mattered to Loqi. After all the time Prompto had spent in his presence, it was pretty easy to tell where his mind was: regardless of whether Prompto succeeded or failed, he was super thirsty for the emperor’s approval. If that was what Loqi wanted, though, Prompto would have thought he’d be doing more to help him dispose of the prince instead of making his mission that much harder. Petty insults were only going to get them so far.

Apparently Prince Noctis recognized that too, because he spent most of the negotiations keeping his thoughts to himself, sarcastic or otherwise. If he was anything like Prompto, then he was probably just focusing on trying to keep up with what was going on--not that he thought that was the case! The guy was a prince, so he had to be used to dealing with things like this. Sure, he glanced at Ignis a little more than the king looked to his own advisors, but it _was_ his chamberlain’s job to help him, so that was no surprise.

If he required help to see that the emperor was attempting to screw them over in a big way, however, then he definitely needed to take a few more lessons in _Princing 101_. As a matter of fact, just about everyone at the table could probably use a refresher course if the arguing and picking at each other were any indication.

Eventually, realizing nothing more would be accomplished in the first sitting, the meeting was called to a close and scheduled to resume the following day. Prompto’s shoulders sagged with a sigh of relief. It had probably been too much to hope that this would all come to a conclusion today, but truth be told, if they had gone on any longer, he wasn’t sure if Gladiolus would be able to resist slamming someone's head into the table. That much was pretty obvious even if he didn’t know the guy very well.  
  
The prince was a little less brazen about his own frustration, although the shift was still obvious as the rest of Prompto’s compatriots disappeared into the corridor. The moment the emperor exited the room, he dropped his regal manner and slumped down in his chair. Prompto was momentarily surprised that he would when they weren’t exactly alone, but he berated himself for it a few seconds later. Why should it matter to Prince Noctis that he was still here? If they were going to be hanging around each other for an undetermined period of time, then it wasn’t like the prince was going to hold that rigid posture every second of the day. It was only natural that he acted...well, rather _un_ prince-like at times. Maybe. Possibly.

Whether that was true or not, this less guarded version of Prince Noctis offered him a little bit of silent intelligence that he hadn’t expected. Aldercapt had swept out of the room without bothering to see whether his retinue was following, but King Regis? He didn’t walk out that door until he made sure the prince was in good hands--that or he was just silently reminding him not to kill the envoy that he was allegedly supposed to be teaching. One or the other. Prompto was leaning towards the former, though, especially when Prince Noctis glanced around to offer his father a small and encouraging smile in farewell.

_Huh. Weird._

King Regis didn’t stay to chat, but he definitely looked like he wanted to. Instead, he muttered a quiet word to his Shield, shot the prince another nod of affirmation, and strode out of the chamber as though Prompto was nothing more than a scrap of wallpaper. Admittedly, he figured that was the best he could hope for.

The obvious affection between him and his son, however, made a twinge of regret poke at Prompto’s insides when he remembered how things had gone during the debates. (He couldn’t really call them negotiations, all things considered.) Prince Noctis had tried his best to contribute where he could to the proceedings, but anytime he dared to speak up, Loqi had been there to talk over him and throw his commentary in at every turn--most of which had been petty insults regarding how Lucis did things and nothing that actually helped matters for either party. Big surprise there.

“I should say that that went about as well as expected,” Ignis spoke up now that it was just the four of them, reorganizing the notes and papers he had put together during the meeting. “We may as well go over these tonight in preparation for tomorrow.”

Prince Noctis answered with a noncommittal hum, still looking around the room as other council members filed out, grumbling amongst themselves. While it was probably a good idea to keep their heads in the game and try to salvage whatever they could of the treaty for Lucis, it also appeared to be the last thing the prince wanted to do at this point. Prompto couldn’t blame him: a nap actually sounded great right about now, especially when he had gotten about three hours of sleep the night before. 

Which was why he bit his tongue against sympathetically saying, “ _same, dude,”_ when the prince glanced at his chamberlain with a reluctant frown.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t, Prompto had to admit he felt a little bad for the other side. Given his position, he had never gotten a chance to really sit down and interact with Lucians; if they weren’t trying to kill each other, then they were on opposite sides of the world. Seeing the energy seep out of them when the rest of his compatriots left the chamber, though, watching the prince seem to consider shirking his royal responsibilities right now… It struck him all of a sudden that they weren’t so different. They all had royals to appease, commanders to obey, and lives that didn’t really go the way they would have liked. None of them were free, whether it was because they had to serve or they decided to shackle themselves to this war that seemingly had no end. It was no wonder the emperor hated them: the Lucians were everything he despised. To him, weakness wasn’t tolerable, and that was all Prompto saw as he observed how they were left reeling from the meeting.

Well, not the king. He had been a pillar of strength, although Prompto could see the exhaustion of verbally sparring with the emperor all day beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth and eyes when he’d left. It was interesting that he was able to muster enough positive energy to smile at Prince Noctis—the only sincere expression he’d worn all day, if Prompto had to guess.

It was definitely more comforting than the other _sincere_ looks being tossed around, that was for sure. Gladiolus had eased off of the scathing glares a little since the night before, but Prompto was still uneasily aware of the fact that he was practically watching his every move. What did he think, that Prompto was stupid enough to try something in a Citadel protected by Lucian magic? He had enough on his plate without making more trouble for himself. 

And speaking of having enough on his plate...

“That can wait,” Gladiolus grunted in response to Ignis’s suggestion. “His Highness has dinner with the king anyway. I think we _all_ need a break.”

 _And a nap_ , Prompto inwardly groaned. Either the prince’s Shield could read minds or he was feeling the air of _slacking_ , because when Prompto glanced back up, it was to find that he was on the receiving end of one hell of a glare. _Whoops..._  

Gladiolus definitely had one thing right, though: a break was in order. Maybe putting the treaty business out of their heads for the rest of the day would work in Prompto’s favor, at least.

“In that case,” Prince Noctis responded, stretching out his arms as he pushed away from the table. “I think we should head back to my room and play video games.”

_Uh...what?_

Video games? What was a video game?

Prompto racked his brains to think of what the prince could possibly be hoping to do with his time, but whatever _video games_ were, they apparently didn’t qualify as the sort of break the prince’s Shield had in mind. Not if the way he rolled his eyes was any indication. Ignis, on the other hand, shook his head as he leveled an almost wary glance at Prompto. 

“I’m afraid to say that today's negotiations have thrown your schedule off a bit. And I’m sure the captain here can play video games at home. That isn’t what he came here for,” Ignis noted, shifting his attention back to the prince.

_Sure. I can totally do that. Uh huh. Right. Yup. If I knew what the hell a video game was._

Something told Prompto that asking wasn’t a good idea, especially when Ignis seemed to believe he should already know. Thankfully, it wasn’t the kind of suggestion that required an answer, and the prince’s chamberlain didn’t wait for one before he pressed on with more business. 

“However, if Noct is going to be eating with His Majesty tonight, then I’m afraid I have prepared far too much for our dinner. Prompto, if you have no other plans, you are welcome to join Gladio and myself.”

As far as unexpected gestures went, that one definitely took the cake for today. The impromptu invitation to dinner and Gladiolus’s subsequent murderous glower at Ignis’s back took up whatever processing power was left in his brain after the day’s nonsense, forcing him to set aside the _video game_ conundrum for the time being.

The real question was what his answer would be. The prince’s Shield was silently making it very clear that he didn’t want Prompto eating with them, and to be honest, he didn’t quite disagree. Still, he needed to get some intel on the people in Prince Noctis’s inner circle, and what better time than when their guard was down at a casual meal? Sure, Gladiolus probably never let his guard down, but it was as close as he’d get.

So, much to the Shield’s apparent dismay, Prompto nodded with a grateful smile. “Thanks. I, uh... _didn’t_ have any other plans.”

 _No shit_ , he snorted inwardly, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at himself. What else would he have to do when the rest of the envoys had already checked _humiliating the Lucians_ off their list for the day? Well, besides enjoy the bed they were somehow letting him keep. There was always that.

Gladiolus must have been remembering the not so distant political thrashing as well, and Prompto was insanely grateful that he smacked the back of Noct’s shoulder instead of his own face, jerking his head towards the door.

“Forget the video games. We got training to do.” With a hostile glower at Prompto, he added, “You’re welcome to join us _there_ , too.”

Okay, strike that--not grateful _at all_. At this point, he had no doubt that nothing would give Gladiolus more pleasure than to have an excuse to pulverize him, and Prompto had a feeling he’d do just that given the opportunity. But what was he supposed to do--say no? That would probably not go over so well... 

Glancing between the three of them, he swallowed hard and just barely managed a strangled, “Uh...”

_Aw, yeah. Nailed it._

The look his reaction earned from the prince was surprisingly sympathetic, which only set Prompto more on edge. He was one of the people trying to take everything Lucis owned--Prince Noctis knew that, right? Well, maybe he wasn’t entirely on the same level as the others, at least not where the prince was concerned. After all, Prompto had been careful not to speak ill of Lucis at any of the meetings thus far, which was more than could be said for the rest of his party. It wasn’t much, but apparently it was enough to keep the prince from expressing his loathing outright like his Shield.

In spite of Prompto’s obvious lack of an answer, he didn’t repeat the invitation to train with them, groaning at Gladiolus’s demand instead. 

“Ugh, fine, but I gotta change first. You’re coming too, right?” he directed at Prompto, totally killing his hopes that they would let the matter drop after all.

“Well, with that settled,” Ignis interjected, nodding with a certainty that Prompto didn’t share, “I don’t believe that Prompto has brought along any clothing suitable for training purposes.” 

_Wait, when did I agree to this?!_

His silence had apparently been mistaken for affirmation, not that Ignis had given him much of a chance to speak one way or another. That guy was… He just didn’t make sense. At every turn, it seemed like Ignis was persistently trying to throw him off his game. Last night at dinner, it had been his wordless tutoring on how to eat at a royal table; now, it was pushing him towards training with the prince and his Shield. There was no reason for him to be this friendly, especially not after today--especially not knowing what Prompto was here for, at least in part.

_He's either a total idiot or he wants something._

After spending so much time touring the Citadel with him, Prompto found it hard to believe that Ignis was a fool.

The thought that he might have so easily been found out or that the chamberlain suspected him enough to be lulling him into a false sense of security had Prompto looking for anything to distract himself. And hey, Ignis had thought of that as well: he _didn’t_ have any clothes to train in. He’d left anything suitable back in Gralea, just as Loqi ordered, and he somehow doubted that his commander would take kindly to him getting all sweaty and gross in a brand new uniform.

“Oh.” Prince Noctis looked him over briefly, making Prompto struggle not to squirm under his scrutiny. Once the prince sized him up, he nodded to the door and prepared to leave with a casual, “He can borrow something of mine.” 

_Something of…_

He couldn’t mean what Prompto thought he did. ...Could he?

From the looks of things, he _did._ While Ignis broke off from their group to do whatever it was his job dictated, Gladiolus dropped into step beside Prompto as he followed the prince from the room in a complete daze. This couldn’t actually be happening—there was no way. It was insane to think that Prince Noctis, heir to the throne of Lucis and the Crystal and all that junk, would be cool with loaning him clothes like they were on the same level. The emperor would sooner see you freeze to death before letting you borrow even his oldest, crappiest robes. It had never occurred to Prompto that any royal would be different.

Maybe this was some kind of joke, where the prince would give him something totally ridiculous or made for a kid or something. It wouldn’t be too out there for him to want to embarrass Prompto the way the imperial envoys had humiliated the king, after all.

Honestly, Prompto wouldn’t even blame him for it. There had been a number of occasions when he’d wanted to lean in and remind Loqi that they should probably tone down the douchebaggery if they expected him to get close enough to pull a trigger. Not that his commander would care all that much, but still, it was sort of counterproductive to his mission.

Or... Well, maybe not. He _was_ currently stepping out of an elevator with the prince and heading towards the latter’s private chambers. If he really hated Prompto as much as his Shield undoubtedly did, he wouldn’t have let him anywhere near his personal quarters...right?

 

***

 

Noctis knew this wasn’t something Gladio was going to agree with. If anything, he was pretty sure his Shield would make him pay for the decision once they got down to the training room. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a point: being nice to Niffs and inviting them to his quarters were two totally different things. 

Still, Noctis figured it wasn’t as if Prompto would make it to his room again without him. If the guards didn’t stop him from reaching the more personal areas of the Citadel, then Gladio would catch him before he so much as thought about crossing the threshold. It was as secure as possible when they had imperial envoys in the building, so Noctis wasn’t going to worry about it. There were more important things on his mind, anyway.

He pushed open the door to his room and immediately took off his tie and jacket, tossing them on a chair in the corner while the others filed in behind him. Ignis would put his discarded clothes in what he considered their proper places later, but for now, Noctis would call _not on the floor_ adequate enough. All things considered, that was more effort than he usually put into making sure his chambers were neat. Most of the time, Ignis didn’t even rebuke him for it anymore.

From the looks of things, he wouldn’t be so lucky where Gladio was concerned. Noctis didn’t have to ask to know that his Shield was annoyed with the current situation. If he didn’t know any better, Noctis would say he was attempting to blow up Prompto with his laser-like stare alone. (Now _that_ would be a mess that Ignis wouldn’t appreciate.) He figured he would probably get a lecture about this later: Gladio may have been forced to get on board with the plan to be civil, but room visitation was apparently crossing a line, just as he’d thought. They’d have to make this quick, then.

“Just a shirt and pants cool?” Noctis asked, stopping at his dresser and beginning to rummage through one of the drawers. After a moment of searching, he found what he was looking for and offered Prompto a black top and matching sweatpants. 

Not that he was paying attention. He was too busy gaping at Noctis’s bedroom, which sent a thrill of panic shooting through his stomach for the tiniest fraction of a second. Once he realized that Prompto wasn’t examining the place for possible entrances or weaknesses to exploit, however, he frowned in curiosity. The guy was a captain in Niflheim’s army--he had to have seen some pretty fancy interiors before, right? So far, his reactions to just about everything seemed to point in the opposite direction, especially if Ignis was right about what he’d noticed on their tour the previous day. There was no other way to explain his obvious fascination with the television mounted on his wall, the multiple gaming consoles his father had gotten him when he moved back home (to ease the sting of not being able to go to the arcade as much anymore, probably), his enormous bed that put the one in his old apartment to shame. Those were all commonplace to Noctis, but to Prompto, it looked like he was stepping into another world.

A world where princes didn’t have everything organized for them within an inch of their lives. Come to think of it, he realized with a cringe that it was a good thing he had forgone having the maids come and tidy up his room. They would have arrived to see a freshly made bed with the Carbuncle plush he’d had since he was a kid laying neatly on top of the pillows. At least this way, the potentially embarrassing stuffed animal was tucked beneath the sheets where Prompto’s searching gaze couldn’t find it.

He didn’t need the added labor of explaining _that_ alongside keeping Gladio from body checking Prompto out of the room. 

That was already going to be tough enough in itself: Gladio was staring at Prompto like he might just slap him in the back of the head if he didn’t get a move on, so Noctis gave the clothes a shake to grab his attention--and maybe save his life. Who knew?

This time, it worked. Prompto snapped out of his amazed stupor long enough to clumsily accept the garments with a quick, “T-Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Noctis waved him off, shutting the drawer just as Gladio folded his arms and nodded towards the door.

“You can change when we get there,” he grunted, which Noctis could tell was as close to what he wanted to say as he could possibly get.

_Well, it’s progress, anyway._

Noctis paused nevertheless, glancing hesitantly towards his bathroom. He changed in the training room all the time, but right now, he liked the idea of doing so before they left. It wasn’t just that he could already picture Ignis’s horrified look to hear their finery had been stashed in a training room locker, but he was less than comfortable with the idea of having to change with a stranger there.

Some wounds, he was not all that keen on showing off and even less enthused about fielding questions on.

Gladio’s patience had already been tested enough at this point with the dinner and inviting Prompto up here, however. Honestly, it was a miracle that he hadn’t shoved Prompto out the door the second Noctis bestowed the clothes upon him. The urge was obviously threatening to overcome him, but it would have been too rude for any of them to overlook; there was no way his Shield thought that Prompto was worth a dressing down either. That was the only thing that kept Noctis from making even a minor fuss about this. As much as he’d like to, he instead picked up his own clothes and headed for the door.

“S-Sure, that works. If Your Highn—if _you_ don’t mind,” Prompto corrected himself before he could make the same mistake as last night.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled in response, biting back a frown. Whether he was less than pleased with the idea of changing down there or not, it was none of Prompto’s business. 

Neither of his companions questioned the way his decision was clearly at odds with his preferences, much to his relief. Rather, Noctis merely followed along behind Gladio in silence as they took the elevator down to the training room.

“Whoa! This place is seriously _awesome_!” exclaimed Prompto the moment they stepped inside. 

Noctis shot Gladio a furtive glance, shrugging when the latter raised a questioning brow. Sure, the facility was nice and all: there were windows in the ceiling that let in the afternoon sun, and tapestries lined the walls. It wasn’t any different from the other training rooms, though. If anything, it was a little on the small side.

Seeming to realize by their expressions that he was overreacting just a little, Prompto cleared his throat and rephrased his compliment. “This place is, like, super impressive.” 

Gladio still snorted derisively, muttering, “It’s nothin’ special. What, you never see a gym before?”

“They’re all different, big guy,” Prompto automatically lilted, looking like he might have rolled his eyes if it wouldn’t have resulted in a punch to the face. 

Noctis managed a small smile. Prompto was either brave or stupid for responding like that, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating it.

“Gladio doesn’t get out much,” he interjected, glancing over at his Shield as he pushed open the door to the changing room. In spite of the latter’s scowl, he thought he’d earned the right to take a quick jab at him in front of the enemy. After all, Gladio didn’t seem opposed to tossing him into the locker room, where the supposed Niff _captain_ could see him swapping outfits.

Not that he suspected Gladio was going to send him in there alone with Prompto. Who knew what might happen in there? He might get pantsed and stuffed into a locker; Prompto might steal his clothes. The horror of potential juvenile horrors!

Of course, Noctis _did_ understand the precautions, even if they felt stifling and somewhat unnecessary. Prompto was still an enemy, and as such, it wasn’t proper for Noctis to be in his presence unguarded. His father would have an aneurysm, and that wasn’t even mentioning how Ignis would react. If Gladio agreed that it wasn’t right to leave him alone with Prompto, however, then why he hadn’t just let them change upstairs was a mystery.

Well, not really. Noctis knew damn well why Gladio demanded they change down here. As he shuffled towards the corner of the room, trying to remove his shirt and slip into the new one before anyone else would see his skin, he began to wish that Gladio had picked a different time to have his unnecessary pissing contest with Prompto. It would have been so much easier if he’d just played nice the way Ignis said.

Noctis flung his dress shirt into the nearest locker and frowned as realization dawned on him. Maybe Gladio _hadn’t_ been so single-minded in his desire to show Prompto who was boss. His current discomfort could also be Gladio getting back at him for taking the _play nice_ route.

He snorted, shaking his head. Yeah, that would be typical Gladio, all right. If that were the case, then he’d have to do his best to appear as unbothered as possible. There was no way he was going to give Gladio the chance to call him a wuss on top of everything else.

So, it made absolutely no sense that Gladio insinuated himself into the opening of the row where his locker was positioned before Prompto had a chance to follow them. He didn’t _have_ to stare him down or fill the whole space with his girth—but that was exactly what he did, effectively blocking Noctis from view of their guest. Prompto didn’t say a word, taking the hint and shrugging a shoulder uncomfortably as he turned down the next aisle where he’d be by himself.

In spite of his aggravation with Gladio’s tactics, Noctis couldn’t help huffing a little sigh of relief. Maybe the empire knew about the injury he’d sustained as a kid—it was impossible for them not to, given the circumstances—but they didn’t need to see the aftermath. Having to deal with the reality of it already ate at him without needing an audience to make it worse.

He already had plenty of _worse_ , like having to see Gladio change into a similar outfit. Admittedly, it had always suited him a little more than Noctis; he would probably live in the thing if Ignis didn’t constantly get on his case about wearing actual clothes. Where Noctis just looked like he was about to get his ass handed to him, however, on Gladio the workout gear appeared about ten times more intimidating.

...And thirty times tighter.

“Not leaving much to the imagination, huh, dude?” Prompto blurted out in apparent agreement when he emerged from his side of the lockers. The unimpressed glare Gladio shot him would have made Noctis flinch if he were in his shoes, but Prompto stood his ground pretty well. 

_Impressive._

“At least he _has_ a shirt on,” Noctis muttered as he rounded the corner, tugging at the hem of his own shirt. He dared a quick glance at Gladio before averting his eyes: if he was being punished, that undoubtedly meant that Gladio was disappointed in him, even if he _had_ done him a favor and kept Prompto at bay while he changed. As much as Noctis wanted to take his father’s advice and decide how to deal with Prompto himself, he couldn’t help the sick sense of loathing that accompanied his Shield’s disapproval.  
  
Hunting for something to distract himself, he gave Prompto’s outfit a quick appraising nod as they headed back out to the training room. It was definitely a little strange to see someone else in his clothes, but he didn’t let it show. That would just make this whole situation that much more awkward when it was bound to be weird enough already.

Noctis had never trained with a second person before. For as long as he had been working on his fighting skills, it had always been one-on-one, just him and Gladio. That being said, he wasn’t sure how any of this was going to go. The way he figured it, Gladio would burn off some stream alternating between the two of them as human punching bags, and they’d both regret agreeing to this in the morning.

Opening his mouth to say as much, he paused, noting the inking on Prompto’s wrist. Well, that had to be one of the more interesting tattoo choices he had seen, and that included when he was seven and wanted Carbuncle inked onto his chest. At least that would have been more creative than the series of lines and numbers he spied before Prompto shifted his wrist, hiding the image from view. 

_Uh...okay…?_

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, eyes lingering for another moment before he turned away. It meant he could put off having to look at Gladio for fear of what he’d find reflected in his friend’s eyes, which was one of his biggest priorities right now. If he had noticed the tattoo, then he didn’t say a word, but Noctis knew that he was too observant to have missed it.

“I’m game for whatever you guys normally do,” Prompto offered, seemingly unbothered by his intermittent gaze.

Noctis figured he sounded agreeable enough, but either his lack of reaction or the suggestion that they not change things up didn’t sit well with Gladio.

“We go one-on-one,” he ordered gruffly, already heading for the weapons rack. Pulling his blunted greatsword from its perch, he shot over his shoulder at Prompto, “You can watch first, see if you can handle it.”

Prompto simply nodded in response and retorted under his breath, “Sure, I always preview a good catoblepas fight before I dive in.” 

As much as he wanted to laugh, Noctis groaned instead, retrieving his own weapon from the rack. He had hoped that Gladio would be itching to fight Prompto and give him a reprieve, especially since he had a hard enough time taking Gladio on without an audience. Call him crazy, but he wasn’t that keen on making _falling on his ass_ a spectator sport. Battling Gladio was like beating his sword against a massive brick wall. The only difference was that, eventually, the brick wall slapped you back and sent you flying.

“Or, I mean, you could just take us both on together?” Noctis suggested, thinking that at least Gladio would be more focused on Prompto than him if they gave it a shot. Plus, then Prompto wouldn’t really be able to watch their battle styles as closely, not unless he wanted to wind up taking a wooden greatsword to the head. Not that he really considered that as much of a possibility, but he knew Gladio well enough to assume that he _did_.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was on his mind. Noctis could tell from the twitching muscle in his jaw that Gladio wasn’t pleased with the idea, not one bit. Adding Prompto to the mix messed up their flow, something that they’d worked pretty hard to build up since he was a kid. He and Gladio had been training together for eight years; as such, they were was intimately familiar with each other’s fighting styles. The two of them against him? Talk about trial by fire.

Admittedly, Noctis couldn’t say he liked the idea of teaming up with a Niff—it was just so surreal, and not in the good way—but he had promised his father he was going to treat Prompto like he would anyone else, so this was a step in that direction. There was no turning back just because he was nervous. 

Fortunately, Gladio didn’t call him on it even though he had to know that. Rather, he bit his tongue and displayed a united front the way they’d been taught to do in front of enemies. There would be time to argue about it later.

“Fine,” Gladio eventually grumbled, eyeing Prompto warily. “Get a move on and pick your poison.”

It took a moment for Noctis to decipher why Prompto stared at the weapons on loan as if they might bite him: unlike Lucis, the empire was more interested in using guns than anything with a blade. Noctis had thought that they would at least teach their soldiers the basics of swordplay, but if he was reading the apprehension in Prompto’s stance correctly, it looked like he was mistaken. 

It was fairly obvious as Prompto tentatively grabbed a pair of daggers that he was pretending he knew how to wield, adopting a battle stance and boldly exclaiming, “You’re on!”

Oh yeah, this was going to end badly. One of the first lessons Gladio had ever taught him was that people who didn’t know what they were doing tended to be the most dangerous on the battlefield, and not in the way commanders usually hoped for. At least that made Noctis feel a little better about not actually intending to work _with_ Prompto so much as _near_ Prompto. That would keep him out of the line of fire while still sharing a similar goal of not getting stomped flat.

If he had the slightest assurance that during a one-on-one match, Gladio wouldn’t embarrass him in front of company, he wouldn’t have suggested this at all. He knew well enough that Gladio wasn’t the type to let them win, though. No, with Gladio, you had to earn your victory. Noctis could understand that, albeit grudgingly, but his current plan was helping him achieve a win this time.

Maybe it was stupid, but he had thought that Gladio would focus his attacks on Prompto, giving him at least a fighting chance of taking down the behemoth on steroids that called himself his Shield. But Gladio didn’t appear to be the worse for wear by the time they’d been at it long enough for his muscles to be aching, and he continued to defend against Noctis’s assaults at every turn. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for him to realize that he had to face facts: he and Prompto would be winded well before Gladio at this rate.

 _It’s because we’re not working together_ , Noctis frowned to himself, hazarding a quick glance over at Prompto. It was too easy for Gladio to defend against two idiots throwing themselves at him with no real direction. Besides, it didn’t help that Prompto didn’t seem all that confident with those daggers either.

If they were going to have a chance, then he needed to throw his reservations about working with a Niff aside, regardless of what Gladio would think about it. He had to get Prompto’s attention and devise a plan. Gladio would have no choice but to be pleased that he didn’t look weak in front of the enemy, and Ignis would be proud of him for coming up with a strategy. It would be fine.

He knew that was some shaky logic, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment, so Noctis decided to go with it as he attempted to catch Prompto’s eye and motion for the other to take cover behind one of the pillars alongside him. 

In spite of his less than spectacular performance with weapons, Prompto took the cue quickly enough and ducked beneath one of Gladio’s swings with impeccable timing. Noctis had to hand it to him: he was _quick_. Almost before Gladio had a chance to turn and attack again, he was already diving for the pillar. It wasn’t much of a hiding place when Gladio knew exactly where they were, but it would buy them a little time anyway.

“Dude, what is this guy _on_?!” Prompto panted, clutching a stitch in his side and frowning down at his daggers. He was apparently well aware that they weren’t doing him a whole lot of good—really, it might have been better if he ditched them and resorted to a more hands-on approach. Gladio would still murder him, but at least he’d last approximately twelve seconds longer when he wasn’t fumbling with unfamiliar weapons.

He must have realized it too, because Prompto leveled a desperate look at him as he jerked his thumb towards where they could hear Gladio strolling unhurriedly towards them. “If you’ve got a plan, I’m all ears.” 

Well, he had the beginnings of a plan, at least. Noctis was pretty sure Gladio was showing off. For starters, he could tell that his Shield had been going extra hard on Prompto; he had never come at him with nearly as much force. In part, Noctis thought he understood why: his Shield had to make sure Prompto knew that if this was what he could expect in just a training exercise, then he wouldn’t want to fight Gladio for real.

Still, Prompto’s desperation sent a twinge of camaraderie through Noctis’s gut, especially when he was feeling a little short of breath himself. If they took down Gladio, then it was over and counted as a win for them. That could only be a good thing, if they could manage it. 

He took a quick look behind the pillar to be sure that Gladio was still doing that zombie horror slow walk towards their position, rolling his eyes when he discovered that he _was_. Seriously, why was he like this?

Honestly, he deserved what he was about to get. Hopefully.

“I might,” Noctis finally answered. “Do you think you can hold his attention long enough for me to get him from behind?” 

If the way his eyes boggled was any indication, then Prompto was less than thrilled with the prospect.

“I mean, you’re a lot quicker than I am, and no offense, but he’s going to focus on you anyway,” he elaborated apologetically, grimacing when Prompto let out a low whine.

“Aw, maaaan…” His trepidation only lasted a moment before he added with a little more gumption and a strangled chuckle, “Okay… I’m on it!”

For about three seconds. That was how long it took for him to dart out from behind the pillar before Gladio’s greatsword swung at his head.

Well, that was sort of the point, so Noctis refused to feel bad about it. 

He didn’t wait to see if it made contact with its target. Sprinting to a different pillar so that he could position himself behind Gladio, he bit back any remorse he might have felt in playing dirty like this. He had always assumed they had a bit of an unspoken rule where they didn’t take swings at each other’s heads.

Apparently, he was wrong and headshots were fair game--or maybe that only applied to Prompto. It didn’t sit too well with Noctis, which only served to make him more uncomfortable. He shouldn’t care if Gladio gave some Niff a concussion, but a rather loud part of him shouted that he did. 

It left him with only one solution. If he wanted to stop his Shield from cracking Prompto’s skull open on his behalf, then he’d have to take down Gladio.

_This is gonna end well._

Prompto slid underneath his Shield’s weapon and dashed towards the other side of the room, Noctis watching carefully while Gladio took the bait. It was all a matter of timing from here: Prompto whirled around, raised his weapons to defend himself against the lunge that Gladio was preparing to dive into... 

And Noctis broke into a run, letting his momentum do some of the work for him as he slammed his sword into the back of Gladio’s knees.

_The bigger they are, the harder they fall._

It was that sentiment Noctis kept in mind as he quickly scrambled out of the way so Gladio wouldn’t take him down too--and he went down _hard_.

Noctis let his own training weapon drop to the ground with an echoing thud as he placed his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths. He could still feel the reverberating shock of hitting his friend shaking through his arms. 

“Friggin’ tree,” he grumbled, stumbling back into a standing position and walking over to offer Prompto a hand up. It wasn’t the neatest victory he’d ever won, but he was impressed all the same. “Nice one!”

Okay, so maybe his ego was currently riding a bit of a high from having taken down Gladio. Usually, their training sessions ended in Noctis’s defeat, which only made sense since Gladio was tasked with his protection. If his Shield lost battles to his charge, then it really didn’t make much sense for Noctis to keep him around in the first place. Still, the logic of the situation didn’t make an actual victory any less remarkable.

With that thought in mind--and fully believing that his irritation at having lost wouldn’t cloud Gladio’s satisfaction that he’d managed to win--Noctis turned to grin at his defeated friend. “Not bad, right?”

 

***

 

 _Not bad? Not_ bad _?_

As Gladio picked himself up, he couldn’t help the surge of anger that made him glare daggers at both Noct and Prompto like the damn cheaters they were. If things had been different, if it had been Noct and Ignis who had pulled that stunt, it wouldn’t have bothered him at all. They were ultimately on the same team; learning to fight together and adapt to each other’s strengths was the name of the game. This kid, though? He wasn’t part of their group—hell, he wasn’t even an ally. He was a known enemy, and Noct was ready to jump in and work with him like some kind of partner? Was he insane?

Hadn’t Gladio taught him better than that?

The worst part wasn’t even that they’d teamed up against him, not really. What truly incensed him was the way Prompto snorted at Noct’s remark and allowed the prince to help him up as if he wasn’t the equivalent of dirt on Noct’s boot. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Gladio knew better—he thought so, anyway—then it would have looked like the two were friends.

This wasn’t right. It hadn’t been right since the Niffs showed up, and it was just getting worse now. The real kicker? No one else seemed to take the threat Prompto posed as seriously as he did. No one else seemed bothered at all with the idea that trying to get information out of this Niff could just as easily end with a bullet in Noct’s brain, or anyone else’s. It didn’t matter that he seemed harmless, that he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut instead of making a damn fool of himself like the rest of the envoys. Gladio didn’t care what their unwanted guest thought of the training room; it didn’t bother him that he’d gotten snippy about his gear.

None of that was worth crap to him. All he cared about was that he’d gotten Prompto out of Noct’s chambers before he had a chance to case the place for potential entry points. He cared that he’d kept Prompto away so that Noct didn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of showing someone the scars he was still self-conscious about. He cared that he’d set this up as a session where he could train his charge without the enemy realizing the gravity of his talents. 

They blocked him at every turn. In the competition between himself and Prompto, the Niff was winning, and no one gave a damn besides him.

Noct could be as put out as he wanted, and Ignis could shove his reprimands when he undoubtedly decided to issue them later. Gladio _knew_ he was right, and he wasn’t about to take any extraneous risks with this little shit.

His expression must have been enough to communicate some of his thoughts, because Prompto swallowed hard and adopted the wimpiest, most conciliatory smile Gladio had ever seen.

“No hard feelings, right?”

No hard feelings? Was this kid for real?

“Sure,” growled Gladio, his glare no less intense as he turned his back on them and stalked towards the weapons racks. “Guess we’re all kinda wrecked after all that talkin’. Probably oughta call it a day.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “Kinda messes with your head a little.”

Gladio snorted humorlessly. “You can say that again.” 

There was a soft scuffling, and he peered over his shoulder to see Noct immediately taking a step back from Prompto, the small amount of pride and elation that had been shining in his eyes over his feat evaporating almost as quickly. It took every ounce of control he possessed not to let himself feel bad for that: Noct could congratulate himself for winning some other time, preferably when he didn’t have a Niff in tow that had helped him do it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand that they needed to play this a certain way if they were going to survive. If anyone got that, it was him. After Noct had left Gladio alone with Ignis the previous night, they’d agreed that caution was the more appropriate route than outright hostility. That didn’t mean that Ignis trusted Prompto or the other Niffs any more than Gladio did, though; he’d said as much before they went their separate ways for the evening. If anything came up, if they found out that Prompto wasn’t as harmless as he pretended to be, then Gladio had free rein to take him down. Until then, it was a matter of trapping him before he had a chance to cause any lasting damage.

And yeah, there was no denying that Prompto didn’t exactly seem the type. Gladio had spent half the morning keeping one eye on him and wondering how this kook was the best the empire could do. If they were all like him, then they wouldn't be signing a treaty--they'd be picking up the shattered remains of Niflheim and building a landfill in its place. Maybe he was just new; he looked young and obviously wasn’t as seasoned a warrior as Gladio was used to seeing around the Citadel. Hell, he couldn’t even use daggers without almost hurting _himself_ more than his opponent.

When he grew up and learned, though, he'd be just another Niff. _That_ was what worried Gladio more than anything. The runt might not be a threat today or tomorrow, but it wouldn't last. For all they knew, he could be acting like an idiot to keep them off guard, and Noct was playing right into his hands by pulling shit like that training maneuver.

Not a chance was he going to let that slide. Prompto might have thought he could disarm them with that stupid smile of his, but he’d never met Gladio. The kid didn't know what he was up against.

Noct could play nice all he wanted; he could treat Prompto as if he was just another soldier instead of the threat he clearly posed. But Gladio would be damned if he let his charge--his friend and brother--walk straight into a trap. 

So, Gladio refused to feel guilty as Noct only nodded in response and quietly headed towards the rack to replace his own weapon. If it took a few explosions for him to realize that he needed to watch his own back as thoroughly as Gladio was, then so be it.

“You probably wanna get washed up before dinner,” Noct muttered to their audience after a few seconds of terse silence, clearly hoping that Prompto might take the hint without having to be obvious about it. 

Sure enough, he nodded immediately. It didn’t take a genius to realize that they needed to talk, and although Gladio didn’t doubt for a second that Prompto would be salivating at the idea of hearing what they had to say, he _also_ figured that the kid knew better than to try pulling a fast one.

And he was right. Pointing towards the door, Prompto hastened to reply, “Yeah, good idea. Thanks for the session, Your, uh...Highness.”

With that, he made a break for it, hesitating only for half a second at the door before vanishing into the corridor. The Kingsglaive operative that had been stationed outside while they trained glanced in, nodded significantly at Gladio, and followed suit. 

That was one problem taken care of. The other one was looking pretty damn guilty right about now.  
  
_Good. Maybe he’s using that brain of his for a change._  
  
That still wasn’t enough to stop him from demanding, “The hell’d you think you were doing?”

Noctis flinched, meeting his eyes only for a moment before he decided his shoes were in more pressing need of his attention.

“I...” He stopped, letting out a shaky breath and visibly steeling himself. “Look, I mean, isn’t defeating you with me better than him watching us fight together and getting to memorize our moves?”

As if that was what he’d actually been thinking in the moment. If Gladio weren’t feeling particularly irritated, he would have laughed at the idea that Noct came up with that all by himself. After all, he was a damn good strategist in his own right and definitely a lot smarter than some people gave him credit for, but when it came to security, that was Gladio all over.

He’d seen the potential dangers in the situation long before they’d stepped into the training room, and they’d practically been blaring sirens at him when Prompto didn’t specify a preference in training styles. Of course the little Niff runt would want them to fight the same way as usual: that would give him an idea of just what to expect in a battle with both him _and_ Noct. The intelligence he could gain from seeing them in their element might not seem like much to his charge, but Gladio saw it for what it was. After all, he was doing the same thing—feeling out the enemy for weaknesses.

That was and always would be Gladio’s job, first and foremost. Noct didn’t _have_ to think about that sort of thing. Whatever happened, his Shield would be there to focus on that so he could prioritize other matters. In that way, like so many others, they were one unit.

And as one unit, it was also his job to make sure that his other half kept his shit together before he got himself killed. 

“You and I both know that ain’t the problem here,” grunted Gladio with an unimpressed quirk of his eyebrow. Noct, however, wasn’t willing to back down so easily.

“How so?”

“We had two options: play up your strengths to keep anyone from trying something stupid, or make you look like you couldn’t fight for shit.”

Something flashed in Noct’s eyes, and he blurted out harshly, “So, let me guess: you went for the second option, right?”

“The hell do you think?” Gladio scoffed, narrowing his eyes. The decision had been laughable, and Gladio could write the former off almost immediately as a lost cause. If the kid was anything like his compatriots, then he wouldn’t be easily shaken off by a tough battle—Niffs were stupid that way. Which just left making Noct look as deceptively underwhelming as possible. Gladio didn’t like to brag, but beside himself, that wasn’t a tough image to paint.

It just went to show that their priorities were in very different places: Noct still didn’t get it. The glare he was aiming Gladio’s way said that much, and it took a great deal of effort for him not to reach out and shake his charge the way he desperately wanted to. Instead, he took one of the worst pieces of advice that Ignis ever gave him.

He used his _words_.

_Ugh._

“This wasn’t supposed to be a way to embarrass you,” he sighed impatiently.

He barely finished his sentence before Noct was retorting, “Could’ve fooled me.”

_Okay, you little shit. Can I get a word in here?_

That was what he wanted to say, but Gladio forced himself to maintain his calm exterior in the face of the stubbornness he knew Noct had always personified. It was no different when he was a kid, and he didn’t expect any less now. That was why they butted heads so often: things got tough when an unstoppable force met an immovable object.

But they needed to get this out in the open, so Gladio took a deep breath and continued, “The less likely they think you are to protect yourself, the safer you’ll be. I won’t be around to protect you all the time. If you get stuck with one of these assholes by yourself, it’ll be better for you if they have no idea what they’re up against. I don’t know what you were thinking, teaming up with one like that, but it ain’t gonna fly in a real fight.”

If he thought the compliment--however veiled it admittedly was--would soften Noct’s disdain, he was mistaken. Gladio hadn’t expected him to apologize for doing what he thought was right, even if that meant fighting alongside a Niff. Still, he’d hoped for a little bit of reason to shine through.

Instead, what he got was the same shit he really should have seen coming by now: “I _thought_ I was completing the training session. Or are you still pissed about yesterday?” he added, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Yesterday ain’t got anything to do with this,” Gladio shot back. _His_ tone contained no shortage of the venom Noct’s was conspicuously missing. Taking a few steps towards him, Gladio jabbed a finger to his chest and continued, “Workin’ _with_ him is as good as leaving the playbook open on the bench. He knows your weaknesses now—he knows you’re pretty damn effective when you can get the upper hand, and he knows your strategy for taking out targets that are bigger than you. You ever _think_ that maybe I was goin’ harder on him to keep his eyes off _you_?”

...All right, so it had the added benefit of showing that Niff just what he’d be up against if he tried any funny business, but Gladio wasn’t about to admit that. Besides, that wasn’t his main goal regardless: keeping that little weasel from reporting back to his commanders about Noct’s abilities _was_. Keeping him from spotting an opening _was_.

Keeping that goddamn idiot of a prince alive _was_.

Gladio didn’t care if he left the kid with a few bumps and bruises—if he really _was_ the captain he claimed, then he could handle it. His priority was elsewhere, and the more Noct fought him on the whole Prompto situation, the harder it would be to do his job.

Something Noct said bothered him, though, and Gladio found himself backtracking to his comment about the previous night. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this part of the conversation, but there was no way he could get away with not going there.

“Guess you decided how you’re gonna play this, then, huh?” he demanded with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, no thanks to either of you by the way,” Noctis immediately retorted in an obvious attempt to rail against the verbal onslaught. He had spent the duration of Gladio’s angry lecture with his jaw firmly clenched, just waiting for his chance to be able to get a word in. 

The glare he shot Gladio now was heated, yet he found it difficult to feel intimidated when Noct was half his size. Plus, he noticed with a surge of triumph that he wasn’t going to bother addressing any of the points Gladio had made--because he was _right_.

That didn’t mean he was willing to give up just yet, though. Noct drew in a breath, trying to sound more confident than he seemed to feel as he replied, “I’m just treating him how I would if he was anyone else until he gives me a reason not to.” 

_Ain’t that just peachy._

Try as he might to remember what it was he’d discussed with Ignis about the whole thing, Gladio couldn’t help the bitter taste of rage that welled up in his throat at that. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t have predicted himself, but he’d been hoping Noct had learned a little more from him than _this_.

“Till he gives you a reason,” growled Gladio with a mocking snort. “Yeah, ‘cause joining up with the empire’s army ain’t reason enough.”

Honestly, that was all it took for him to know Prompto was a piece of shit. People who sought to serve big empires like Niflheim? They were just looking to be protected, and if they were willing to throw in their lot with the Niffs all for some peace of mind, then that was more than enough for Gladio to determine what kind of person they were—namely, the kind that had no business cleaning Noct’s boots let alone working with him. 

How was it that Noct couldn’t see that? To Gladio, it was plain as day and had been ever since the Niffs had shown up. Instead, he gave the guy the benefit of the doubt at every turn. Even at dinner the night before, he’d gotten a kick out of it when Prompto laughed at his damn joke. If he had been snorting out of annoyance, then it was a given that the little assbag would have called him out on his comment and made the meal even more awkward. That hadn’t happened, though, and Noct seemed to be taking that as evidence that out of the entire empire of Niflheim, _one_ of them could turn out to not be a complete prick.

Gladio could have sworn he’d taught him better than that, but maybe he was wrong. Years of isolation from anyone who wasn’t duty-bound to serve him might be working against them in this case. Was he so desperate for regular companionship that he was about to consider the soldier their enemy had set upon him as friend material? After the way the emperor and his weaselly little commander had been insulting King Regis since their arrival, was he about to consider that this guy might not be that bad? And for what--because he may have a decent sense of humor?

It should have taken more than that to win him over, and it _would_ if Gladio had any say in the matter. This brief lapse in judgment, this moment of weakness while looking for companionship and like-mindedness in a tense situation--it wasn’t going to last. He wouldn’t let it.

But that wasn’t how the prince saw things, and Gladio knew better than to think he’d change his mind with reason alone. After all, he and Noct never had seen eye to eye on much.

Knowing it didn’t stop him from continuing, “Treating him like anybody else is all well and good, but the second you stop watching your back is a second he’s got to put a knife in it. Don’t forget: he hasn’t tried anything yet, but he joined up for a reason.” 

“What do _you_ want me to do then? _Your_ job?” he rejoined, glaring at Gladio even though his words appeared to have shaken some of that steel resolve of his. “I’m not exactly in a position to treat him like shit! What do you think will happen? I’m supposed to be teaching him stuff. If I’m an ass, he reports it to his weasel-faced commander, and then it gets reported to the emperor, and the emperor is just a bigger dick to my dad!”

His frustrated huff didn’t put a dent in Gladio’s surety that he was right. Yeah, he knew that Noct couldn’t meet Prompto with the same level of hostility--not only for the fact that it could have harsh repercussions for his father, but because just being a member of the Niflheim army wasn’t reason enough. Judging someone from where they came from had never been Noct’s style, admirable and annoying as it was. And in spite of Gladio’s own reservations, there was no denying that Prompto _had_ been the only envoy who hadn’t been insufferable at the banquet the night before. 

But Gladio wasn’t telling him to be an asshole. He wasn’t telling him not to treat the guy any differently from a dignitary from any other country. There was no sense in forcing him to behave like the rest of those idiots, especially when Prompto was going to be sticking around, like it or not.

If it wouldn’t have been wildly inappropriate, however, Gladio would have laughed. Leave it to Noct to completely misunderstand what he was getting at—as always. There were days when he wasn’t even sure why he bothered saying anything anymore; everyone was ready to believe the worst.

Gladio may have had more muscle mass than brain cells, but he wasn’t an idiot. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as Ignis or as diplomatic as his father—so what? When it came down to brass tacks, he took his job seriously and did it _well_. Noct was still breathing; he was just trying to keep it that way.

“You think I don’t know that?” he demanded, folding his arms and leveling Noct with his most unimpressed gaze. “Anything happens to the king, _my_ dad’s right there with ‘im. The emperor decides to retaliate for his little captain getting his nose outta joint, it’s _my_ dad who gets in the middle.”

 _It’s_ my _dad who kicks it protecting yours_.

He didn’t say it, but man, did he want to. Yeah, Noct had it rough, and this decision didn’t make things easier. What he didn’t get was that it wasn’t just him—the ramifications of his actions impacted _all_ of them, and Gladio wasn’t so inhuman as to shirk his responsibilities to go for one Niff’s neck like Noct seemed to think.

Maybe in another life, but certainly not now.

Shaking his head, Gladio turned away and stomped over to the bench where he’d left a towel to dry off with. “I ain’t saying you should treat him like shit. What I _am_ saying is you need to start thinking like a prince. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what this guy’s all about, and you damn well can’t keep him from running his mouth.”

Glancing once over his shoulder, he added, “Not being as big a prick as the others? Yeah, I’m down with that. Still doesn’t mean I trust him, and neither should you.” 

“It’s not like I’m going to be offering him guided tours of the Crystal or anything,” he muttered with a halfhearted shrug. “I’m just trying to figure him out, that’s all. And...well, I could use your help.”

When Gladio turned to look at him, his mouth hanging open a little in surprise that he’d actually come out and _said it_ , Noct kept his eyes on the weapons rack. Baby steps it was, then.

“Could have it worse,” he added after a moment, managing the barest of smiles and an instant of eye contact. “Could have been stuck with the ass-kissing commander.” 

This time, Gladio did laugh. “ _That_ one wouldn’t have lasted three seconds in here.”

Whether that was because Gladio would have reamed him twice as hard as Prompto or that he looked about as easy to break in half as a twig was a tossup. Either way, he counted them all lucky they didn’t have to keep that guy around. _International incident_ wasn’t even the phrase for what would have resulted.

But they hadn’t gotten stuck with Loqi the Lapdog—they had Prompto, and like it or not, Noct was apparently determined to see this through his way. Gladio didn’t like it, but then again, he didn’t have to. That was what he had a Shield for.

So, with a sigh of defeat, Gladio dropped onto the bench and surveyed Noct closely. He had that _look_ , the one that said he was going to do what he wanted with or without Gladio’s blessing—but he _did_ want his help. Knowing him the way he did, Gladio was well aware that it took a hell of a lot of guts for Noct to come right out and say it like that. After all, Ignis was usually the one he went to for shit like this, so if he was asking his Shield?

Well, this was his prince, his charge, his friend... How could he say no?

“What do you want me to do?” Gladio asked quietly. He may have been biting his tongue against what he would have liked to say, but that didn’t keep him from wryly pointing out, “It ain’t _my_ job to babysit him.” 

“‘Course not. That’s Ignis’s job,” he remarked casually. The way his shoulders sagged in relief was almost enough to make Gladio grimace. What had he been expecting--to be told no or, at best, go ask Iggy?

_Yeah, right._

Noct didn’t wait for him to answer, looking over his shoulder in the direction Prompto had gone. “Well, you have dinner with him tonight, right?” 

“Yeah,” snorted Gladio, rolling his eyes in spite of the support he was trying to convey. There was only so much he could do to help that. “It’s gonna be somethin’, all right.”

“Maybe see if you can get him to mess up and say something he shouldn’t. Catch him in a lie.” When Gladio merely raised an eyebrow at him, he added, “Look, if it doesn’t work, then we can try it your way.”

Now _that_ was a promise Gladio fully intended to hold him to. For now, however, that would just ignite another argument that nobody was going to win.

And Noct was unfortunately right: he had a dinner to get to.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he grunted with an unenthusiastic shrug. “If he’s a captain, though, he probably knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

That was the only way Gladio could think of that anyone would rise in the ranks of Niflheim’s army: subterfuge and backstabbing. After all, that was how they played with everyone else on the playground; it made sense that things wouldn’t be much different at home. Still, Gladio didn’t know for sure, and he held out at least a little hope that the military wasn’t quite as screwed up as everything else the empire had to offer. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

With that thought in mind, Gladio stood up and stretched the kinks out of his muscles. Damn, Noct could pack a punch when his target didn’t know what was about to hit them. He would have been proud if _he_ hadn’t been the unsuspecting target.

“Guess we’d better get this show on the road, then,” he mumbled, already dreading what this evening would hold. If the sympathetic and grateful nod Noct managed was any sign, then he at least understood that much. 

Before Gladio headed into the locker room to shower and change, however, he stopped on the threshold and shot Noct a serious look.

“Just hope I’ve got Your Highness’s permission to stick a butter knife through his throat if it turns out he’s some kinda secret assassin or something,” he remarked, although he was admittedly only half joking.

“Yeah,” Noctis answered with a dismissive, careless wave of his hand. “Just make sure he’s _actually_ an assassin before you ruin Specs’s dinner.”


	6. Party of Three

Nearly a day had passed, and Loqi still believed that he had held his temper fairly well during the banquet given that his self-important grunt had decided to seize for himself a sizeable promotion right there at the table. What insolence, to make such fools of them in an atmosphere that would brook no argument at the time. He had resolved to address it today, in the next few minutes if his expectations were met to his satisfaction; to express anything to the contrary last night would have meant inviting scrutiny, so the only avenue available to the commander had been to slip under Prompto’s skin and use a nickname he knew the other disliked hearing.

Well, perhaps that and being a bit harder than necessary on the _captain’s_ target _._

The problem was that Prompto could easily have acquired the station of captain of his own merit--Loqi was all too aware of that. It was not merely the fact that he was admittedly one of the more impressive soldiers that any unit had to offer, which Loqi would _never_ admit aloud, but his lineage was similarly remarkable as well. In many ways, it could rival Loqi’s own. The sole difference was that Loqi’s parents had kept _him_ ; Prompto’s had handed him over to be conscripted as soon as they were able. They hadn’t so much as named him as far as Loqi knew. No, much like the rest of the soldiers Niflheim kept in their employ, Loqi assumed Prompto had named himself.

_With a ridiculous one, at that._

Still, Prompto’s lineage was a potentially major obstacle for Loqi and had been a thorn in his side since it was decided that he would be the one to end the prince’s life. Loqi imagined Prompto’s body would hardly be cold before that idiot weapons developer, Verstael Besithia, hastened forward to remind the emperor that _he_ had been the one to gift the empire with the tool that won them the Crystal.

And the emperor would allow it, too. Aldercapt had always favored that crazy old prune, praising his advancements for their army while he brushed House Tummelt to the side and allowed them to fade into near obscurity.

He would not stand for it any longer. His name would be overlooked no more. If that meant seeing to it that Prompto failed while he stepped in and won the day, then so be it. So long as the task was completed, he hardly expected that Aldercapt would care who pulled the trigger in the aftermath.

It was more likely that that route would remain unavailable, however, which meant that there was always the option of killing Besithia. The man was frail enough for one good push down a flight of stairs to do the trick.

Whichever method he used, House Tummelt _would_ rise again. He would make sure of that.

Deciding his course of action was a matter for when he returned home. For now, he would have to stay on top of his underling’s progress.

In fact, he was so singularly focused on the dressing-down he had been mentally rehearsing that he didn’t immediately register the dull pain that accompanied slamming into a shockingly locked door. A few moments passed where he could but stare at the offending entry as though it might open at his ire and confusion.

It did not.

This was an outrage! The unit’s barracks in Gralea didn’t have locks--they didn’t even have a _door_ . There was a giant opening in the walls that led to a pile of old mattresses and floor space for sleeping with an attached room for personal hygiene. Both shared the same amenity, which was to say that they were open _at all times_.

Per standard protocol, Loqi had been expecting the door to Prompto’s present accommodations to be unlocked and his lodgings made available to him. Perhaps he had simply neglected to turn the knob far enough, an embarrassing yet otherwise unimportant development. With a few muffled curses, however, the commander tugged at the handle only to realize that it really was locked.

_Oh, he is really in for it now._

For a fleeting moment, Loqi was willing to give Prompto the benefit of the doubt: if he was stupid enough to claim he was a captain in front of everyone at last night’s dinner with no evidence or ability to prove it, he was certainly stupid enough to lock the door by accident.

That didn’t stop Loqi from pounding on it with as much force as he could.

“I _demand_ you permit my entrance at once!” he shouted, earning an inquisitive look from the guard stationed at the end of the hall. That brought Loqi up short and forced him to compose himself, but only a bit. If that guard knew what was good for him, he’d mind his own damn business. This matter was between him and his soldier.

As a matter of fact, Loqi was raising his hand to knock again with the full intention of tearing Prompto’s throat out when he finally heard the click of the lock on the other side. The remorseful turn of Prompto’s lips when he opened the door was not enough to ease Loqi’s desire to slap that smile off of his face, though.

“Uh, sorry... Didn’t know that’s what that did.”

So he _was_ as big a moron as Loqi had suspected. How very unsurprising.

“Idiot,” Loqi spat, shoving past Prompto and peering around the room in disdain.

Was he imagining it, or was this chamber bigger than his? He took a few paces forward, calculating the scale in his head before he determined that his must be the larger of the two. There was no way that the Lucians would be so bold as to offer his underling more luxurious accommodations than himself.

Prompto seemed to be remembering himself today, because he said nothing as Loqi scrutinized his chambers and carried on, “Why are you pushing buttons if you do not know what they do? Have you no sense? If we are to smuggle you a weapon to dispatch of the prince, then we need access to your quarters at all times.”

Loqi huffed impatiently as Prompto hurried to shut the door and any prying ears beyond it, gritting his teeth. There was no way that he would ever admit to an error as grievous as speaking so openly about their mission before making sure that the room was secured. His assertion had been quiet enough, but he knew what the emperor or that foolish chancellor would have said if they were present: had the guards outside picked up on his ranting, the mission would have come to a swift end right then and there.

 _At least he has some sense_ , he admitted grudgingly to himself.

Sneering at Prompto’s caution, Loqi recommenced glaring around the room, this time noting a suspiciously _not_ imperial outfit folded on the corner of the bed.

“What the hell is this?” Loqi picked up the shirt, inspecting it with a measure of disgust. It looked like commoner clothing.

“Uh…”

“Have you been entertaining the help?” he continued over him. Loqi did not wait for an answer to that as he tossed the shirt carelessly back towards the bed, disregarding it entirely when it landed on the floor instead. “Sources have indicated that you attended the prince’s training session this afternoon. What have you to report?”

Seeming to sense that Loqi wasn’t in the mood for the sarcastic remarks he tended to rejoin with, Prompto reported with straight facts, albeit disappointingly vague ones: “Not a whole lot. His Shield is a tree—it takes an army just to bring that guy down.”

Loqi motioned impatiently for him to continue, having already seen the prince’s Shield at dinner and been on the receiving end of one rather childish kick under the table. In a more normal situation, he might have believed that Prompto was exaggerating, but his recent experience brought him to believe that his assessment was not that far off the mark. Besides, it was that inexperienced clod of a prince that he cared more about.

“Prince Noctis is definitely a lot more skilled than we thought,” he continued as though reading his thoughts, lowering his voice in case the guards outside tried to listen through the door. “He’s pretty good with the whole Crystal magic stuff.”

_Unfortunate._

That wasn’t exactly what Loqi wanted to hear, but he smirked at Prompto all the same. The level of skill that the prince and his Shield had amassed was Prompto’s problem, after all, not his own.

So, Loqi lilted condescendingly, “I do hope you’re not telling me that you re unable to take down a measly prince and his bodyguard. It would be a shame to have to send you back to Niflheim, but mistakes can be made...”

Trailing off, Loqi frowned as he looked Prompto over more closely and noted the fresh uniform he was wearing. He had expected that when Prompto was not tailing the prince, he would be confined to these meager quarters, but it seemed very much like he intended to take advantage of Loqi’s distraction with the negotiations. It was amazing: when given an inch, he made off with a _mile_.

“Those uniforms are not infinite. Just where are you planning on going in _that_ one?”

“I’m...doing...some recon tonight,” Prompto answered with as casual a shrug as anyone could manage in a stiff new uniform. “I got the prince’s advisor to invite me to dinner while he’s occupied.”

Loqi opened his mouth automatically, ready to point out that what he spoke of as a success could very well be a ruse on the chamberlain’s part to see Prompto meet with an unfortunate end, but he stopped himself. If that were the case, he would just take over the mission himself. What a tragedy indeed.

Loqi did not believe he could be that fortunate, though. Besides, if this _was_ a legitimate offer, then it would be the perfect opportunity for Prompto to integrate himself into the prince’s inner circle. Apparently and unbelievably, there were those who found Prompto’s personality _charming_. Loqi could hardly fathom why, but if any group of morons could, it would obviously be the Lucians.

“I see,” he muttered, scrutinizing Prompto for a moment and trying to find any fault with his current course of action that he could. Sadly, he came up short and was forced to change tacks: “As you must know, we will be departing in a few days’ time. You will remain here to finish your mission.”

“Right.”

Loqi raised an eyebrow, gazing at Prompto with a mocking stare. “We will return for the dearly departed prince’s funeral to take Insomnia and retrieve you, of course.”

If there was anything left of Prompto for them to retrieve. Loqi suspected that, for as folksy and moronic as he found the Lucians, they would not allow their future king’s murderer to live long if the Niflheim army wasn’t present to intervene. Based on the way Prompto swallowed hard and nodded uneasily, he had to know it as well. That didn’t stop Loqi from dangling the hope of an extraction plan in Prompto’s face, of course. Where would be the fun in that?

“We all are confident you won’t let us down, _captain_ ,” he added as an afterthought.

“I got it, _sir_ ,” Prompto replied, and Loqi did not miss the barest touch of sarcasm in his tone. “Watch out for weapon, take down prince, get the hell outta here. Piece of cake.”

_You keep thinking that._

Loqi wasn’t sure what he would have preferred: for Prompto to believe that there was actually an extraction plan in the works and hopefully waiting when the time came, or to know that death was inevitable but that he’d still have to go through with his orders anyway.

He wasn’t given much time to mull over both enticing scenarios as Prompto strode purposefully to the door and laid a hand on the knob. His sickeningly, falsely regretful expression did little to soften his insistence when he indicated, “The prince’s advisor should be here any minute, _sooo_...”

Loqi narrowed his eyes but was able to take the hint, not that he was happy about it. Being thrown out by his inferior was not the best end to his day, yet if he were being honest, Loqi hardly desired to be here when the prince’s chamberlain arrived. That man was unnerving.

“Careful not to waste this opportunity,” warned Loqi as he exited the room. He paid the guards at the end of the hallway no mind when he called over his shoulder, “And I shall expect this door to be _unlocked_ the next time we meet.”

***

When the elevator doors opened, Gladio stepped inside and waved his keycard against the access panel. A few buttons that had previously been dark lit up, and he jabbed the one that would take him to Ignis’s floor with a little more force than was probably necessary. After his discussion with Noct, though, he figured no one would blame him. It wasn’t like he broke the damn thing.

Hopefully that was a sign of how the night would go.

Dinner with a Niff. Of all the things he’d never thought would happen, that had to be towards the top of the list. Part of him couldn’t quite fathom what the hell Ignis had been thinking in the first place, letting this kid into his own quarters like this. Sure, there was no access to the residences without a keycard, but that didn’t mean the little captain wouldn’t gain some intel that they definitely didn’t want him having.

The fact that stealth kills in the middle of the night were out of the equation for their opponents didn’t do much to put his mind at ease. All they really had to do was knock out the right person and grab their card--after that, they’d have the freedom to enter some of the most personal, sacred parts of the Citadel. One key wouldn’t get them everywhere, of course; the king was too smart to let anyone besides himself and Noct have access to every level. Still, it wasn’t secure enough for Gladio’s liking, especially not when Prompto wouldn’t be able to get to Ignis’s apartment without seeing the trick to making the elevator work.

But Noct had made himself clear not an hour ago: Gladio needed to keep an open mind if for no other reason than that his charge was asking him to. If they could get information out of their Niff shadow, then that was what he needed to do--it was the only way to both fulfill Noct’s request and protect him at the same time.

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

So, he felt no remorse whatsoever about unlocking Ignis’s door with his keycard and barging in without bothering to knock. They’d known each other long enough that that was basically par for the course now; Ignis was the only one who stuck to the whole knocking thing. Waste of time if you asked Gladio.

And speaking of wastes of time--and space, if he was being honest--it looked like the captain was already making himself comfortable. Well, maybe he couldn’t go _that_ far: Prompto was busy staring around the place with his mouth hanging open while Ignis set a glass on the counter in front of him. The guy didn’t so much as twitch.

_The hell kinda captain is he?_

Gladio supposed he could let it slide this time— _only_ this time. After all, anyone would have to be impressed with Ignis’s chambers: the apartment could have been a museum. If Gladio didn’t know that Ignis had lived here since he was a kid, he would have thought it was some kind of model room that they just used for show—decoration without habitation and all that. It wasn’t like every room in the Citadel was full, anyway.

Everything in Ignis’s apartment was arranged with almost geometric precision, as always: the books on his shelf, the paperwork filed neatly on his desk, even the pillows on his sofa. There was nothing out of place; _clutter_ was a concept Ignis had only heard of because that was practically how Noct existed. The counters in the small kitchenette across the main room were all cleared, and through another door was an immaculately made bed that looked like it hadn’t been slept in for the last ten years.

All things considered, though, it was nothing fancy. There were definitely nicer rooms in the palace; Gladio’s own home could boast of way more space and comfort, not that he’d ever brag about it. Still, Ignis’s abode wasn’t too shabby, and it more than put the guest rooms they’d stuck the Niffs in to shame. That was probably why Prompto was gaping like a damn fish, although Gladio didn’t get what the big deal was. They had shit like this in the empire, didn’t they?

Unless he was cataloging everything to tell Aldercapt what he should be complaining about later. It didn’t strike Gladio as the most likely scenario, but hey, weirder things had happened lately.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gladio tossed the door shut behind him. That, at least, snapped Prompto out of his stupor. If he did plan on ratting them out for providing the worst rooms they had to offer, then he’d need to find another time to take mental notes.

Apparently, they’d been in the middle of some pathetic excuse for a conversation before he arrived, because Ignis was busy telling Prompto, “We have water, tea, a few types of juice… I do believe Noct stashed some sodas here that you’re more than welcome to.”

Snorting, Gladio ignored the friendly smile Prompto shot him when he noticed that they weren’t alone anymore and retorted, “He’s gotta have somethin’ to wash down the veggies with.”

“Yes, well, that would require him to eat them in the first place and not strategically place them in my garbage disposal.” Sighing, Ignis ironically chose that moment to lay a vegetable tray on the counter that would have made Noct green before he pointed at the untouched glass of lemonade he’d set in front of Prompto before. “If that is not to your liking, I’m sure we can find something else.”

 _Yeah, got a few good ideas about that_ , Gladio thought darkly. Voicing his ideas on what constituted proper drinks for Niffs was probably not the way to start the evening on the right foot, so he simply watched as Ignis went into full-on mother-hen mode. It wasn’t as bad as with Noct, but given the target of his attention, Gladio couldn’t help wondering if he was going to get through this dinner without throwing up.

“Prompto, I forgot to ask: you aren’t allergic to anything, are you?”

He glanced up from warily scrutinizing his drink to reassure him, “Nope, think I’m good.”

_Damn. Guess that would’ve been too easy._

For a few seconds, they descended into silence as Prompto returned to poking at his glass like he expected poison to be inside instead of juice. Not that that wasn’t a valid point or exactly what Gladio would have liked, but he still exchanged a subtle, skeptical glance with Ignis.

“It’s not gonna bite you, y’know,” he finally pointed out.

Seeming to take the hint that they didn’t have all night to watch him decide whether he wanted it or not, Prompto chuckled nervously and hastened to take a sip—with some admittedly entertaining results. The pinched expression he adopted when he swallowed a bit of the slightly sour, slightly sweet concoction was too good not to smirk at.

“Looks like he’s got Noct’s tastes,” Gladio mused sarcastically, shooting Ignis a wry smirk. Knowing him, he was logging that information away for what he usually called _amicable purposes_ , as well as potentially lethal ones should the need arise. Gladio didn’t relish the thought of taking the stealthy approach to doing Prompto in if they had to, but he’d make do with whatever was necessary to get rid of the guy in that case.

“Training went well today, I take it?” Ignis inquired lightly, effectively changing the subject. It was like he _knew_ when Gladio’s thoughts turned violent and tried to preemptively steer them onto a safer course.

And of course, he just _had_ to pick that one.

Prompto hazarded a furtive glance at him, but Gladio wasn’t about to offer any assistance this time. After all, he _really_ wanted to hear what the Niff’s version of the story was going to be. Probably something about how he’d taken down the prince’s Shield and deserved a medal—or maybe he’d save that for his ferret-brained commander.

What he didn’t want to hear was Ignis’s response. He’d be proud of Noct either way instead of appropriately appalled.

When the silence stretched into awkward territory, however, Gladio nearly rolled his eyes as he realized he was going to have to either be the first to speak or give the little shit a reason. So, he accepted a glass from Ignis with a grunt of thanks and took a long pull, staring pointedly in the other direction.

_You first._

After all, he was just going to do exactly as Noct had asked: no confrontation, open mind, all that crap. There was nothing _nice_ he could say about the whole thing, so he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“Oh, it was fine,” Prompto finally replied after watching him a few seconds longer. “We, uh... I mean, Prince Noctis sure knows what he’s doing. We teamed up ‘n’ stuff.”

At that lame description, Gladio snorted into his cup and muttered, “And _stuff_ .”

“I see,” murmured Ignis with a quick and easily readable glance at Gladio.

It was one he didn’t return, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay as neutral about the situation as Noct needed him to if he did. Regardless, Ignis definitely _didn’t_ see. There was too much to that mess that wasn’t included in Prompto’s answer for him to possibly guess, although if anyone could, it would be him. Fortunately, he was smart enough to take the hint and chose not to press the subject. They could discuss it later.

Clearly thinking along the same lines, Ignis diverted his attention back to their unwanted audience to observe, “Dinner should be ready shortly. Prompto, I hate to ask as you are a guest here, but would you mind setting the table? All the plates and bowls are in that cupboard to your left, and the cutlery is in the drawer below.”

Cutlery. Ignis wanted the NIff handling knives. What a comforting thought.

Gladio knew what this was: Ignis was betting on him not liking the idea, which meant he was aiming for Gladio to give the kid a hand. Of course. Because there was no way he’d do it unless absolutely necessary. Gladio wouldn’t say he was hopeless in a kitchen—he could throw together Cup Noodles if he was hungry, and really, that was all anyone needed. Setting the table, though? Yeah, his concerns weren’t enough for him to make a move there, so he’d leave it to the runt this time. Not his job.

Or so he thought. The sight of Prompto hovering indecisively in front of the cabinet didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

For someone who was allegedly an officer in the most powerful military Eos had ever seen, Gladio had no idea how he’d gotten there if he couldn’t even figure out something as simple as what they were going to need to eat dinner. Plates and bowls? Forks and spoons? They’d literally used all that at the banquet--this wasn’t airship science or anything.

The first step was easy enough, and Gladio watched impatiently as Prompto eventually transferred three plates and three bowls from the cabinet to the table as though he was afraid they might attack him.

Then, apparently, came the hard part. Every time Prompto reached for one style of fork in Ignis’s fancy set, he seemed to think better of it and went for another instead. The problem? He’d abandon _that_ one a moment later, frowning down at the drawer in confusion. It was a pretty damn pitiful display, but he tried to remember that not all soldiers were as fortunate as him. He wasn’t your run-of-the-mill grunt or even officer: he was the Shield of the future king of Lucis, and as such, he’d at least gotten a few basic pointers when it came to formal dining.

Prompto, on the other hand, spoke as if he’d been yanked off the streets of Lestallum and seemed about as educated. Gladio definitely didn’t peg him for the kind of guy who’d been pampered his whole life and therefore had no idea what he was doing when servants could do it for him--those were the vibes he got from Loqi, not Prompto. At least getting confused about which forks they were supposed to use admittedly wasn’t one of the worst things that could have happened.

Gladio wouldn’t say he was taking pity on the guy, per se. He was just hungry, and hurrying this along would mean spending less time in the presence of his latest tactical nightmare. So, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, clapping a hand on Prompto’s shoulder and roughly reaching past him to grab three dinner forks with as many smaller soup spoons.

He didn’t look at Ignis. He damn well didn’t comment on the relieved smile Prompto sent his way, nor did he make a sarcastic remark about standing there all day even though it was on the tip of his tongue. That would be counterproductive to Noct’s mission and, therefore, injurious to his own. A few forks and spoons weren’t going to kill him.

“Thank you,” Ignis called from the kitchen, looking towards where they were finishing up in the small dining area on the other side of the island. “I believe everything is ready here, so why don’t you two have a seat?”

Good. They were finally getting to the part of the meal that included eating. Having something in his mouth would make it a hell of a lot easier to keep it from saying anything he’d regret later. Well, maybe not _him_ , but Noct sure would. It wasn’t worth being on the receiving end of that pout of his, not after Gladio had already gotten enough of that for one week.

“Thanks for cookin’, Iggy,” he grunted as he plopped himself down in a chair, nodding gratefully when the latter set their main courses in the center of the table.

“It isn’t nearly as much as last night, but we do have enough green soup curry and grilled barramundi for the three of us.”

Gladio didn’t point out that Ignis had done that on purpose, that there would have been enough for only the _two_ of them if it weren’t for his sudden idea to invite Prompto to dinner. After all, Ignis was in charge of Noct’s schedule: he knew damn well that he was having dinner with his dad tonight without needing to be reminded. As much as he hated admitting it, though, Gladio had to say that it was a pretty good plan if they were going to get the Niff on his own. Around the rest of the envoys, the kid was too careful; they needed a little privacy if they were going to accomplish what Noct expected of them.

And it had to be a team effort. _Great._

Tact wasn’t exactly Gladio’s strong suit, so he busied himself with serving up the food while Ignis inquired, “Tell us, Prompto, are you enjoying your stay thus far?”

“Definitely,” he answered emphatically, following Gladio’s lead and dishing a surprisingly modest amount of soup into his own bowl. “Everything’s been great. Hard to believe Lucis is like this.”

No surprise there: they didn’t have near as much intelligence on Niflheim as Gladio would have liked, but the differences between their kingdoms were fairly well documented. Where King Regis actually gave a shit about giving his people a good life, Aldercapt was mostly concerned with making sure he had enough military strength to bring down the rest of the planet. If that meant they went without a few creature comforts, then so be it. Hell, Gladio wouldn’t have been taken aback at all to discover that they weren’t as productive in the food department as they let on, but there was no evidence to back him up there. Based on the way Prompto had practically inhaled his meal at the banquet, though, he didn’t think he was too far off the mark.

Especially not when Prompto leaned over to smell the green curry with an expression of utter elation that Gladio thought was a little overdone. Ignis was a damn good cook, but it was just _soup_.

For a moment, he wondered if Prompto realized that himself, because his face fell as he stared at the meal with something like suspicion in his eyes. Pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth, Gladio frowned. They’d already been through the _poison_ thing, hadn’t they?

“Uh...” Prompto cleared his throat with an awkward glance between Gladio and Ignis. “Was this, like, for Prince Noctis or something?”

_...Huh?_

The meal in front of them was nothing special, at least not by Ignis’s standards. In fact, Gladio was surprised that he hadn’t gone with something more impressive if he was trying to get Prompto in a mood to blurt out a few imperial secrets. Maybe he had gotten a little fancy with the spices--Gladio could tell from the scent--but outside of making more than he normally would for just himself, it was pretty basic fare.

“No, I daresay that His Highness would have much preferred I made him a plate of fries,” Ignis noted with a wry smirk, not at all bothered by the oddness of his question. “He would have been welcome to dine with us, of course, had he not made prior arrangements.”

 _Had_ you _not made those prior arrangements for him_ , mused Gladio to himself.

“I’m certain that whatever he is being served is a touch more extravagant,” he continued as though he had no idea what it was that Gladio was thinking. He knew him too well to believe that he was totally unaware, though.

Prompto was none the wiser and simply shrugged. “If you say so. Not sure what could be better than this, though.”

And apparently he wasn’t kidding: a sip of his soup had him grinning so widely that Gladio wondered how he kept the food from dribbling out of his mouth. Was this guy for real, or was he trying to lull them into a false sense of security by acting like an ignorant, inexperienced moron?  
Whichever it was, Gladio was determined to let Ignis handle it. Of the two of them, he was less likely to say something that wasn’t entirely politically correct.

He seemed to agree, because he didn’t attempt to kick him under the table or prompt Gladio to say a word. Instead, he inclined his head and replied, “I thank you, but really, I’m just an amateur cook. With all the preparations for your arrival, I’m afraid I am a bit out of practice.”

Now _that_ , Gladio could say something about.

“Amateur, my foot,” he snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, this is, like, the most amazing thing ever,” agreed Prompto immediately. It didn’t leave the best taste in his mouth that they were on the same page--or at the very least that Prompto was pretending they were--so Gladio merely swallowed another spoonful of soup to keep his tongue occupied.

If Ignis appreciated his efforts, he offered no indication, using the opening to ask, “Do you not prepare your own meals back in Niflheim?”

“Sure, we do,” Prompto hastened to assure them. “They’re just not as...fancy as all this. If you’re an amateur, we’ve gotta be the scrubs.”

A little weak on the recovery, but that wasn’t the important thing. No, it was his fumble that caught Gladio’s attention more. Which was it: a simple meal was the _most amazing thing ever_ or it was just a little different from what he was used to? Gladio had a feeling he knew which one it was, although he decided not to remark on it just in case he was wrong. Besides, Prompto seemed to know that he’d slipped up, ducking his head and focusing on his food instead of stepping all over himself again.

Gladio wasn’t willing to let him get off that easy, though, no matter how much he was enjoying his dinner. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced significantly at Ignis before wondering aloud, “So, what’s on the menu in the empire?”

Prompto paused, spoon in his mouth, and stared up at them for a beat that lasted a little too long. Oh, yeah--they had him now.

Swallowing his soup with a hell of a lot more effort than before, Prompto stammered, “Oh, uh, nothing out of the ordinary?”

“You askin’ or are you tellin’?”

This time, Ignis _did_ give Gladio that kick under the table.

_Not subtle enough, huh?_

Oh, well. Someone had to make a decisive move here, and Prompto’s aversion to the question was pretty telling. Was he under strict orders not to give even the most mundane details about Niflheim away? Or did he simply not have much of an answer to give them? Gladio was leaning towards the latter: the Niffs had already won the war, so what did they care if Lucis knew what that had for dinner?

He wasn’t going to get any help from either of them, though. While Ignis was obviously irritated at Gladio’s admitted lack of finesse, he also did’t jump in to provide an out for Prompto to take advantage of. He just tilted his head curiously and waited to hear his response.

What they ended up getting wasn’t exactly what Gladio considered useful, although it was definitely more gutsy than he ever would have expected.

“What can I say? It’s not polite to tell you we drink the blood of our enemies for breakfast and round out dinner with a heaping helping of Lucian flesh, right?”

Gladio stared at him for one moment—two—then rolled his eyes and glared down at his plate as he dug into his fish with unnecessary vehemence. “Smart ass.”

“Definitely smart—not sure that’s why, though,” joked Prompto. It was unsettling just how similar he was to Noct in that instant: he didn’t need convincing lies or uncomfortable truths when he could use humor instead. The worst part was that Gladio had no choice but to go with it, especially if he was going to stick to Noct’s expectations. It was starting to feel like he’d been handcuffed here.

Ignis, however, was never as concerned about that kind of thing. He just wasn’t the type to call Prompto out on his bullshit the way Gladio normally wouldn’t have hesitated to do. This wasn’t the best time anyway, but he had no doubt that there would be one hell of a discussion once Prompto left under the impression that he’d won that round.

“It would appear you share a sense of humor with His Highness,” Ignis remarked, cutting into his own filet with less aggression than Gladio.

“Yeah, regular comedian,” he grumbled in agreement, shooting Ignis a glance that he hoped indicated that he definitely got the reference. Jokes were Noct’s way of avoiding something he didn’t want to talk about too.

Latching onto the new topic, Prompto asked, “The prince is a...funny guy, then?”

“Guess you could say that.”

Ignis nodded. “I would wager it is one of his traits that Gladio finds most taxing.”

Well, he wasn’t _wrong_ , but that didn’t stop Gladio from rolling his eyes in exasperation. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Noct’s sarcasm--far from it. When he wasn’t using it to get out of something, Gladio thought he could be pretty hilarious.

Then there were times when it annoyed the shit out of him.

That wasn’t any of Prompto’s business, however, so Gladio merely grunted without comment.  Contrary to what he expected, the Niff didn’t go straight for Noct’s throat. He imagined that anyone else (mostly that asshole Loqi) would have taken that as invitation to badmouth his charge, but Prompto… Well, it looked like he was smart enough to play it safe.

“Least it never gets boring, right?” Prompto observed with a sympathetic smile at the two of them.

“Wouldn’t want that,” muttered Gladio, roughly spearing a bite of his fish. The attempt at camaraderie was nauseating, but if it got them a few answers, then he was willing to play ball and asked, “Guys in our line of work don’t catch many breaks, right?”

“You can say that again,” laughed Prompto in that aggravatingly cheerful way he had of sawing at Gladio’s last nerve.

When he opened his mouth to continue, Gladio thought for sure that they were going to get something of use for a change—instead, the little shit just pushed the subject right back to them.

“So, how long have you guys worked for the prince?”

 _None of your damn business_ , Gladio decided not to reply. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to figure it out if he really wanted to: the Niffs had gathered their own information on Lucis, and there had to be a file somewhere that answered his question so that they wouldn’t have to. So far, they hadn’t given Prompto anything that would be of value to the envoys, not to Gladio’s knowledge. He wasn’t about to change that either. This was a question for their resident genius—let _him_ figure out how to climb out of this particular hole.

“We have both been trained to aid Noct since his birth,” Ignis answered carefully, offering no indication of just when they officially undertook their positions. “And what of you? Becoming a captain so young can be no small feat. When did you begin your service?”

“Kinda the same,” shrugged Prompto in something that looked suspiciously like relief. “I’ve been there about as long as you guys, I guess. Easy to lose track of time.”

It was all Gladio could do not to say that it must be simple to forget when every day was spent in the same useless grind of helping an evil empire destroy the world. That would probably earn him a much less gentle kick from Ignis, however, and those pointy ass shoes of his hurt like hell when he wanted them to.

There was one thing about Prompto’s answer, though, that gave him pause—something that didn’t quite add up. So, biting back a frown of distaste, Gladio casually prodded, “Especially when you’re a little kid.”

Just as he’d begun to suspect, Prompto nodded emphatically as he set aside his empty bowl and reached for the barramundi. “You got that right!”  
Gladio nodded in what he hoped looked like sympathy and not the utter bafflement he really felt, waiting for Prompto to turn his attention back to his meal before glancing over at Ignis with a quirked eyebrow.

_The hell?_

Ignis shook his head so minutely that Gladio nearly missed it, and he could tell that the chamberlain’s mind was racing to put together the threads of information Prompto was weaving for them. Neither of them could have expected an answer like that. After all, theirs were rare and special cases. How could Prompto possibly be in the same boat like it seemed he was trying to make it sound?

This was weird. Too weird. If Niflheim was recruiting kids for their army, if that was the norm in the empire, then they had one hell of a situation on their hands. Still, Gladio wasn’t sure he was ready to believe that that was the case just yet. After all, who was to say that the little shit wasn’t lying to get some sympathy from them? This whole conversation had taken a strange turn, and Gladio wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Prompto’s plan to drive a wedge between them and Noct by trying to get them on his side.

That was never going to happen, not while Gladio lived, but there was no denying that they needed to casually press the subject without scaring Prompto off it.

“I suppose it is easier to have grown up in such circumstances,” Ignis ventured, sparing a brief glance for Gladio as he spoke, “rather than being thrust into them later in life.”

Prompto chewed on that for a moment, moving his head from side to side in the most neutral gesture Gladio had ever seen.

“Maybe?” he answered with a pensive hum. “I mean, not like many people get in _that_ much later, but I guess it gives you a leg up.”

“Always helps when you got competition,” Gladiolus immediately retorted, although Prompto’s bark of laughter wasn’t the response he expected.

“Yeah, not so sure that’s an issue,” he chuckled, morosely before seeming to realize that that might be erring a little too close to some awkward honesty. Clearing his throat, he predictably evaded, “What about you guys? You probably had tons of competition to work for Prince Noctis, right?”

Prompto obviously had no idea how things worked in Lucis, and it really wasn’t any of his concern, so Gladio watched with satisfaction as Ignis decided to do what was best for the entire room in this situation.

He lied his well-tailored pants off.

“Any position of such prestige will often invite competition. One simply has to be better than the others vying for his post,” the king of misdirection claimed with a warm smile, although the implication that either of them had any competition was completely laughable. “We can’t all be born into our positions, now can we?”

See, that right there? That was why Ignis was the brains and Gladio was the brawn. He never would have thought of that; in fact, he likely would have opened his mouth and inserted his foot at this point. There was no other way he could think to approach the situation without cracking the whole thing wide open. The information was too valuable to risk it, so he was unspeakably grateful that Ignis had enough presence of mind to lead Prompto down a path he wouldn’t realize he’d traveled until at least a few hours from now.

And, sure enough, the kid played right into it.

“Dude, right!” he exclaimed, leaning forward with an earnest expression that turned Gladio’s stomach. “Guys like Loqi, lemme tell ya. They’ve got it _made_!”

Ignis nodded along, his lips turned up in what Prompto would call understanding while Gladio recognized it for what it was: _satisfaction_. His gamble had paid off, and they seemed to have found a topic Prompto could relate to—they just needed to feed into it.

Which meant it was time for another gamble. Along with Prompto’s confirmation that Loqi was born to his position like Gladio had assumed at that mess of a banquet, the commander’s age—even his appearance and bratty behavior—were enough to indicate that he couldn’t command his way out of a paper bag. If they were right, then that totally changed the game, especially if Prompto was under that idiot’s orders.

Luckily, Ignis could have been a spy if he didn’t have advising down pat.

“Commander Tummelt,” Ignis echoed with a nod. “It can be a thankless job, putting in all the work for the credit to be attributed elsewhere.”

_Damn. Nice one, Iggy._

If Prompto wanted to think that was how they felt about their service to Noct, that was his business. Ignis and Gladio knew better.

And from the look of the disappointed frown on the Niff’s face, he immediately jumped to that exact conclusion.

_Hook. Line. Sinker._

“Yeah, it’s always the ones at the top who get the pats on the back, that’s for sure,” Prompto muttered, pushing his fish around his plate distractedly. “Just gotta deal, though. Not like we can do anything about it, right?”

Well, _he_ sure couldn’t from the sounds of it. A somber mood settled around the table, although Gladio definitely wasn’t disappointed with the results of Ignis’s poking—provided the information wasn’t false. After all the work they’d put in this evening (Ignis into the dinner and Gladio into not ruining it), that was the last thing they needed. He wasn’t sure it was worth worrying, though: Prompto seemed pretty earnest, and an attitude like his only came from personal experience.

Which was why Gladio could imagine what he was talking about, but there was a disconnect between that and feeling bad for the guy. Whatever crap he dealt with, he could still leave. He didn’t, though, and that was what defined him. For all they knew, he was aspiring to the level of _Pampered Slimeball_ the rest of the envoys personified.

Finding out seemed to be next on Ignis’s agenda, and his eyes were trained intensely on Prompto when he asked, “I suppose, but it’s the path we’ve chosen for ourselves. If we decide not to follow it, there are certainly others waiting to take our place.”

“Uh, sure?” Prompto replied, sounding almost as uncertain as Gladio was beginning to feel. The kid was steering them in so many directions that he was starting to question which way was up. He didn’t have a chance to ponder it before Prompto was diverting the attention to them once again, though: “Speaking of, what would _you_ guys be doing if you weren’t stationed here?”

What would they be doing? That wasn’t something Gladio had ever imagined in spite of the rocky start he’d had with Noct years ago. Back in those days, he’d simply fooled himself into believing that if he wanted it badly enough, his charge simply wouldn’t ascend to the throne. He would be too irresponsible, too selfish, and his father wouldn’t let it happen. For a teenager, it had been a pretty stupid thought: that would never fly no matter how terrible a king Noct was likely to be. They were lucky, then, that he was a better person than Gladio had given him credit for. Even if he wasn’t, Gladio had never so much as considered daydreaming about living another life—the Amicitia family was better than that. Noct _deserved_ better than that.

While Ignis and Gladio had been assigned to their positions at early ages, they were still _offered_ to them, not thrust upon them without the option to decline. It was up to them whether they accepted or not; neither of them would be forced to maintain their positions if they didn’t want to. There would be a hell of a lot of begging for Ignis to stay in particular, but he was free to retire whenever he wanted.

Not that he wanted to. Not that _they_ wanted to. Gladio couldn’t picture himself doing anything else, and not in the same trapped way that Prompto’s behavior seemed to exude. In fact, he would have found his lack of devotion to his station more despicable if he weren’t...well, a Niff. They weren’t exactly known for honor, after all.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind exploring the culinary arts in more depth. It would be fascinating to operate my own restaurant, if I could,” Ignis humored him, rising to clear the finished dishes from the table. “And what about yourself?”

When a minute passed where all he could do was stammer semi-coherent remarks about not having put much thought into it, Gladiolus decided to take pity on him if for no other reason than that they’d be here all night if he didn’t.

“Well, not much use in thinkin’ about it now,” he muttered, stretching his arms over his head with a grunt. “Ain’t like any of us is lookin’ for a new gig.”

“Y-Yeah. Right… Oh, uh, here! L-Let me help with that!” he offered to Ignis as he hopped out of his seat and started grabbing plates. It was a pretty obvious maneuver to dodge any other uncomfortable questions, but Gladio didn’t call him on it. There was too much to think about for him to go looking for more just yet.

“That’s quite all right, I’ve got it,” Ignis assured him dismissively, taking the plates to the kitchen himself. “You may have a seat. In any case, it’s about time I brought out dessert.”

Sure it was--it definitely had _nothing_ to do with the savage delight he took in making Gladio and Prompto sit out there together while he arranged Noct’s favorite pastries on a plate. That would be so very petty of him, which was far below his station.

Then again, Gladio figured a little payback for being less than vocal tonight was probably to be expected. He’d survive a minute of awkwardly staring in opposite directions as though the other didn’t exist. As Shield, there were far worse things.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Ignis to gather their final course and announce on his way back, “I hope you’ve saved room.”

“Can make some if we didn’t,” Gladio huffed, masking his grimace with a cough. He’d never understood what Noct saw in these things—they were so sweet that Gladio could practically feel his teeth rotting out of his mouth anytime he tried one. He was more of a savory person, especially in the meat department.

And okay, a nutrient-deprived, sodium explosion of Cup Noodles was always welcome. It was his one guilty pleasure—Noct had so many that Gladio wasn’t sure how he still functioned without vegetables.

That was a mystery for another day. For now, he was too busy putting up a front for their audience. His diet wasn’t any of Prompto’s concern.

“One should think,” Ignis sighed with a patient smirk, setting the plate in the center of the table. For Prompto’s benefit, he added, “A favorite of His Highness that I only recently perfected.”

If the sudden grumbling of Prompto’s stomach was any sign, then he definitely thought Noct was onto something. Just as Prompto was reaching for one, however, he froze with his hand halfway to the plate. _Again_.

“Is it really okay to be eating them?” he asked, no small amount of trepidation coloring his tone.

Suddenly, his previous question made a little more sense, but only a little. What did he think, that Noct would throw a hissy fit over three missing desserts? He could be stubborn and vindictive when he wanted to, but that was way more than he’d ever bother with.

Ignis apparently thought the same, because he shrugged unconcernedly. “I don’t see why not. Unless you’re too full from dinner, in which case, I’d be happy to box a few up for you take for later.”

As if to model that it was okay, Ignis plucked a pastry from the dish before offering it to Gladio. It was all he could do to hide his glare and take one of the desserts with a grudging grunt of thanks. If nothing else, what better way to throw off the enemy than to allow him to think they enjoyed copious amounts of sugary pastries that would make them slower in a fight? Yeah, he’d go with that, silently vowing retribution on Ignis while he watched Prompto’s expression shift from reluctance to curiosity. Maybe dessert just wasn’t a big thing in the empire, in which case at least they had _something_ going for them.

Frowning as they each grabbed their own shares, Prompto cautiously picked a pastry from the dish and bit into it, immediately groaning at the taste.

“ _Duuuuuude_ , that Crystal’s more powerful than I thought,” he mused as he happily downed the rest and eyed the others curiously. “I didn’t know you could use magic to cook!”

_Say what, now?_

What exactly did Niflheim think the Crystal did? It was powerful, but pastry baking was not on the list of marvels it was capable of as far as Gladio knew. If it were, Ignis would have used it to force Noct to make his own sweets years ago.

Correcting Prompto’s incorrect assumptions about the Crystal wasn’t exactly on his to-do list, though. He could feel free to imagine that was how they made their food and crafted their weapons and cleaned their toilets—whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t figure out the true extent of its might.

“Well, there are plenty more if you’d like some,” Ignis offered, only having eaten half of his own.

Gladio smirked as vindictively as he was willing to, what with their present company. He knew the little desserts weren’t exactly to Ignis’s liking either, and he had never gotten away with sneaking anything healthy into them, so they were basically worthless now that he’d finally gotten the recipe right. Well, okay, maybe not _worthless_ : given how the negotiations had gone today, it was no wonder he’d made a few batches for Noct. Eating some himself was just an unfortunate side effect of giving a damn.

Prompto appeared to err more along the lines that Noct did in terms of his diet, and Ignis nodded pointedly towards his plate. “I see you also have a sweet tooth.”

“Kinda hard not to when you make stuff like this,” snorted Prompto with a glance at the clock over the stove. “Would it, uh, be all right if I took you up on that box?”

Tilting his head to the side, Gladio followed his gaze in confusion. It wasn’t what he would call late, but hey, he wouldn’t complain about ending the evening early. At least, their evening with the Niff—he and Ignis had a lot to talk about.

“Of course,” the latter agreed, getting up from the table and once again leaving Gladio with only Prompto for company. It wasn’t that he took his time on purpose—actually, to hell with that. He definitely did it on purpose. There was no other reason to take his sweet time putting together a to-go box.

And it was no wonder when he was busy assembling a cloth sack full of plastic holders (all the nicest Lucian plastics) with leftovers from dinner. Damn, Gladio usually left with food in a paper bag if he ate with Ignis.

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to provide any soup as I don’t have an adequate container handy,” he explained with a small frown. “Hopefully this will suffice.”

Prompto’s shocked skepticism was answer enough, so Ignis didn’t bother waiting for him to reply before inquiring, “Shall I escort you back to your quarters?”

“Yeah… Yeah, that would be great. Thanks,” Prompto murmured, shaking off his surprise and rising to his feet.

Gladio barely lifted a hand in farewell as he mumbled a quick goodnight and followed Ignis out the door-- _finally_. It was a relief when they closed it behind them, leaving him alone in the middle of Ignis’s apartment to consider his unease by himself.

Well, that hadn’t gone according to plan at all. Gladio had fully expected to see the _real_ Prompto, the one who was just as bad as the rest of the Niffs when he didn’t have to worry about being overheard by Noct or the king. He’d been waiting on tenterhooks for him to overstep his bounds just _once_ , anything that would justify a negative report. After all, Noct was counting on him to get information out of the kid.

What he’d received wasn’t anything like what he thought he would, though. As Gladio slumped down onto Ignis’s couch to await his return, all he could think was...

“What the hell was that?”

“My thoughts exactly,” sighed Ignis, stepping inside and locking the door. Unsurprisingly, he made a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of Ebony before sinking into the chair across from him and murmuring, “Well, I can hardly say that went as expected.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” grumbled Gladio with a furtive glance at Ignis’s favorite drink. Coffee wasn’t really up his alley, not when he was already keyed up enough, but it was pretty telling when their resident genius resorted to the heavy stuff at this hour.

Gladio, on the other hand, was more partial to taking his frustrations out on some training dummies. If he was going to blow off steam, then he may as well be productive while he was at it. Maybe Ignis wouldn’t agree with his methods, but hey, they couldn’t all be coffee-addicted saints.

“Thought we were supposed to be diggin’ for answers, not more questions,” Gladio pointed out, deciding not to comment on his approaching caffeine buzz. “Kid led us through a damn maze all night.”

“We simply need to gain some direction in order to navigate this particular maze. For starters, it would appear that the position of _captain_ doesn’t carry as much prestige as it does in Lucis.”

Snorting derisively, Gladio folded his arms and muttered, “Doesn’t look like it. Sounds more like the captains are just glorified grunts.”

Honestly, that was what both angered and confused him the most. The military wasn’t meant to be inflicted on you—it was a give and take. You gave up your freedom to fight for your country, and in return, they provided for you. That was what happened for every son of Lucis who served, whether as Shield or in the Crownsguard or even the lowly gate watch.

If the clues they’d put together from Prompto were any indication of how captains were treated in Niflheim, then he didn’t want to think about how the hordes of unranked soldiers got by.

“What I wanna know is why they brought ‘im in the first place if that’s how it is in Niflheim.”

“ _That_ is the real question here. It does not appear that he has a personal agenda of his own,” Ignis responded pedantically, like a teacher whose pupil just clued in to the actual purpose of the lesson for the first time all year. It was a habit that Gladio found obnoxious at best, but he managed not to roll his eyes this time as he figured Ignis would work his way around to the point soon enough.

“Not sure the kid’s got what it takes to pull something like that off anyway,” Gladio sighed to his hands, already mentally wincing at how he knew Ignis would take that.

It wasn’t that he thought Prompto was stupid, per se. More like...what was the word for it? _Guileless_ . He was too damn earnest to be a total faker.  
And if he _was_ , then he was a pretty damn talented actor. _That_ could be dangerous.

“If it is not his agenda, then we must assume it is that of who he serves and that his commander could stand to gain a great deal from undermining Noct...” Ignis trailed off with a frown, mulling over the rest of his thoughts without sharing any of them.

As early as it was in the game, Gladio assumed Ignis had to have at least three different theories about Prompto already hammered out. He didn’t like to speculate until he felt he had gathered the appropriate amount of intel, though, so it would be a while before he opened his damn mouth.  
Instead, he latched onto a different topic: “ _You_ seem to have had quite the change of heart since last night. Might I ask what brought this about?”

Yeah, Gladio knew it was only a matter of time before Ignis commented on that. It wasn’t like they’d had a chance to talk about his little chat with Noct what with the Niff in the house. Ignis was smart, though; he probably already knew and just wanted Gladio to say it for reasons he’d never be able to fathom.

“Noct’s got new orders from the king,” he muttered, trying to find anything else to look at besides his companion. The blinking colon between the numbers on Ignis’s oven clock worked well enough. “Gonna need to play nice with this kid if we wanna see what he knows. Y’know, spy style and all that.”

Gladio chose not to say that it was Noct’s request that he play ball. He chose not to point out that his prince said he needed him, and that it wasn’t in Gladio’s carefully structured DNA as Shield to deny his prince what he needed. He decided to keep those things to himself, knowing that Ignis would get that smile that never failed to make Gladio cringe if he didn’t. There was nothing mushy about this—it was business and duty, and if Gladio was good at anything, it was those two things.

So, clearing his throat, he pressed on before Ignis could ask for more details. “Speakin’ of, you think we got enough intel for His Highness to report to the king?”

Gladio was lucky that Ignis wasn’t an _I Told You So_ type of person, at least not outright. The soft, thoughtful hum he offered in response packed enough sentiment for Gladio to get the picture. It was all so frustratingly _Ignis,_ even if he _was_ thankful he didn’t have to hear it put into words.  
Graciously, Ignis carried on with the conversation like a professional, and Gladio elected to ignore the pointed looks his companion was giving him over his coffee.

“I should say so. If we were to toss in the observations I made before your arrival and the banquet, and prior to bringing him here tonight, then I daresay we have much to discuss about our friend  _Prompto_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all had a good holiday! We'll see you here next year!


	7. Desperate Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back and happy new year! We hope you enjoy the new chapter!

_Why. Are. These. Things. So. Boring._

It took every ounce of self-control Prompto possessed not to yawn right there in the middle of the audience chamber. That definitely wouldn’t make the best impression, although he doubted anyone would blame him—at least, no one who wasn’t Loqi.

Seriously, how did these people sit through this? The negotiations were a cluster of arguing and needling and obnoxious gestures that seemed benign until you realized they were some kind of code for flipping someone the bird. Political smiles were hiding jagged, shark-like teeth simply waiting to tear into the other side while the latter struggled desperately to stay afloat. 

And that was just the _breakfast servers_.  
  
The process they were inflicting upon themselves to get the treaty ratified was about a billion times worse. No one could be happy with anything; it was all a problem, which made no sense when Prompto figured even _he_ could have solved everything in a fraction of the time. Lucis gave up land, Niflheim agreed to let them have Insomnia without blowing them to smithereens—deal made. What was so difficult?

Oh, right. Emperor Aldercapt was involved. Prompto had rarely been around the guy before this trip, but his experience was matching up with the horror stories he’d heard from other members of his unit when they could get away with heckling their superiors. The dude was either touched in the head or so removed from reality that he kept forgetting this was a _negotiation_ for a reason. You couldn’t ask for the world if the other side only wanted trivial things like, y’know, peace and _to live_.

But, hey, what did he know? This stuff wasn’t any of his business: that was why he stood off to the side of the audience chamber, out of the way and thankfully out of the line of responsibility. All he had to do was not embarrass himself, and he was home free.

Which was great since he was wiped out after staying up so late with Ignis and Gladiolus. Well, _they_ probably didn’t consider it that late, given that they’d seemed full of energy when he went back to his chambers with the prince’s chamberlain. He, on the other hand, had been ready to fall into his heavenly bed the moment he closed his door behind him. Lights-out was usually much earlier in Gralea, and with the excitement of having found people he related to here in Insomnia, it felt like he’d been awake forever. Between negotiations and training with the prince and his Shield and fielding Loqi’s disdain… Well, he’d already had a full day by the time he even got to dinner.

And...okay, so maybe not _everything_ had been exhausting. He’d had enough of a break to discover that the shower in his room _had_ to be infused with whatever magic the royal family absorbed from the Crystal! There was no other explanation for how the water stayed so hot that it could turn his skin pink or the way the soap wasn’t gritty like in Niflheim. If that was the case, though, he supposed he should probably have felt a little bad for taking so much time in there—and doing it again that morning. After all, he didn’t know whether the Crystal’s power was finite or not. Surely it had to have enough juice in it to withstand one guy just trying to clean up, right?

Regardless, he hadn’t rushed as he’d scrubbed the sweat from their training session away and tried to wake up a little, watching in fascination as the multicolored soap bubbles spiraled around the drain like a kaleidoscope. The hardest part was reminding himself that he shouldn’t get used to it. Whatever happened next—whether he succeeded in his mission or not—the odds of him ever leaving the Citadel alive were pretty slim. Sure, there was nothing wrong with getting a taste of some awesome stuff while he could, but attachments weren’t in his best interests. He had more important things to be worrying about.

Keeping the prince’s retainers waiting while he dealt with Loqi and the lock on his door had been one of them. That was probably the wrong way of ingratiating himself to them; making a good impression was key, especially around Prince Noctis’s Shield. That guy seemed to smell every foul thing Prompto had ever done and ever planned to do, which set him more than a little on edge in spite of how well last night had gone. If this was going to work, then he had to do everything in his power not to seem suspicious. Fortunately, he hadn’t given the big guy anything to go off yet that he could think of, so it wasn’t like he was in danger of being found out at this point. Still, complacency had brought more than one soldier low, and he was determined not to fall into that trap.

There was something emotionally draining about staying on his guard and making sure he didn’t let anything about his mission slip, but it had been worth it to find some camaraderie—and some intel.

From the sounds of it, Ignis and Gladiolus were in the same boat as him: no credit, stuck working for some uppity schmuck who was going to take over his daddy’s job someday, just getting by with their heads down while they did their duty. They’d really thrown him off with that stuff about choosing to leave and all that, though. After all, _choice_ wasn’t really a part of this. Being in the imperial military wasn’t something he’d _chosen_ , and he doubted Ignis and Gladiolus had chosen their positions either. Yeah, they’d worked their way up and beat out any competition to serve the prince, but they were all stuck in this hole whether they wanted to be or not.

It was a shame, no matter how grateful they tried to act. Ignis was a nice guy; so was Gladiolus when he wasn’t _not_ being a nice guy. They deserved better, although Prompto couldn’t blame them for making it sound better than it was. If they didn’t want to dwell on the situation they’d all landed in, then he hadn’t wanted to make them.

Besides, there were some differences, like the massive gap between their living arrangements and the fact that neither of _them_ seemed to worry about whether Prince Noctis got angry at their behavior. Then there was that total backfire where Ignis had turned his own question back on him. He hadn’t been expecting to have to come up with an answer for what he would do with himself if he wasn’t in the military, which had left him staring between Ignis and Gladiolus like a chocobo in the headlights.

That was something he’d mulled over as he fell asleep after dinner: what would _he_ do? Honestly, as much as he’d thought about what it would be like to not be where he was, he’d never considered what he would rather do instead. Of course, he’d dreamed of traveling and seeing the world and all that, but a job? A lifestyle? There was no use entertaining any notions of that—it was never going to happen. Gladiolus seemed to get that too, because he hadn’t been forthcoming with ideas either.

It was nice to know they _got it_ , and those little moments where they were on the same page had almost made him feel like he was back with the rest of his unit. Well, if the rest of his unit wasn’t a bunch of jerks with a few exceptions, anyway.

And yet, all good things came to an end eventually. When he’d checked the clock and caught sight of the time, he’d actually felt disappointed that he needed to go. It wasn’t that he thought he’d get in trouble for not being in bed when it was usually expected of him—far from it. No one gave a damn what he did anymore as long as he completed his mission. He simply knew that Loqi might show up randomly to see how everything went, and after their tense exchange earlier that day, Prompto thought it best to stay on the right side of the line. Besides, he _had_ been getting tired, and the last thing he needed was to let something slip by accident. Loose lips downed airships or whatever that saying was.

All things considered, the night had been a success. If nothing else, it might have helped him form the beginnings of a connection with the prince’s retinue that he could exploit down the road.

For now, however, he needed to keep those thoughts out of his head. Prompto was still pretty fuzzy on royal protocol, but he had a feeling that staring at the crown prince with murderous intent over how he treated his retainers probably broke some kind of rule.

It was over an hour later when King Regis uttered the magic words Prompto had been waiting to hear and suggested that they break for lunch. If he hadn’t been fully aware of how badly it would be perceived, Prompto would have been the first one out the door.

Well, that and the fact that Prince Noctis was staring in his direction now that he didn’t have a crappy treaty to look at instead. That kept Prompto rooted in his spot for the time being, watching as the prince leaned over to mutter something to his Shield. Whatever he said, the big guy was _not_ having it; the sour expression on his face communicated that much. To the prince’s credit, however, he simply rolled his eyes and pushed past him without any backlash whatsoever.

It was almost unthinkable: they had been here for three days now, and Prompto had yet to see him throw a tantrum. Loqi couldn’t go three _hours_ without pitching a fit let alone _days_ , and he wasn’t even royalty!

Maybe he was just saving up for a really good occasion or the right audience. That was the more likely option, what with the envoys standing nearby; it would be more than awkward if he reprimanded his Shield right there in front of everyone. That didn’t mean Prompto was immune, though. As Prince Noctis headed in his direction, the possibility had him shuffling awkwardly in place. After all, it wouldn’t be too far out there to assume that he was heading over to inform him that when they said _lunch_ , they didn’t mean for him. So, when the prince stopped in front of him, he prepared himself for the worst.

“Uh...look.” The prince scratched the back of his head, uncomfortably tossing a glance over his shoulder at his waiting retainers. “The stuff they’re serving out there is pretty much crummy old-people chow. You wanna head down to the kitchen with us and pick up something better?”

“Something better?” parroted Prompto blankly. The setup he’d noticed on his way in was pretty spectacular; if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought they were serving leftovers from the banquet the other night. The thought had his stomach preemptively turning at the memory of so much rich food literally down the drain, but it didn’t stop his mouth from watering. What could possibly be better than _that_?

“Up to you,” Noctis answered with a halfhearted shrug. Prompto’s eyes followed the prince’s gaze as he looked over to where Loqi was shoving himself past a few Lucian council members to get to the door. “I mean, I guess you’d probably want to stick with your commander.”

The tone of his voice clearly indicated that Loqi would _not_ be invited to the private lunch outing. No surprise there.

As humorous as he found it that he was being offered a spot that his commander wasn’t, Prompto suppressed a shudder at the idea of sharing a meal with Loqi. For one thing, he didn’t care if his unit ate at all much less where they chose to do it. For another... Well, his job was to shadow the prince, right? It would be a pretty poor start to stay and annoy Loqi when he could gather something valuable instead.

It _totally_ had nothing to do with the fact that eating around Loqi made him too sick to his stomach to bother. Always had. Maybe it was his face...

Prince Noctis’s retainers, on the other hand, were at least better company. He wasn’t sure about the prince himself yet—one training session and a handful of words at dinner didn’t tell him much. If his experiences so far were any indication, though, he knew who he’d rather hang with when he was already beyond done with these negotiations.

“Actually, I think he’ll be fine with it,” Prompto answered with a hesitant chuckle as he stepped away from his post. “After you, Your, uh, Highness.”

The prince hesitated for a moment, shooting Prompto a look that made him worried that he had screwed up before they even got going. Maybe the prince had been expecting him to refuse the offer? Well, that would be awkward.

“Just Noctis is fine,” he muttered quickly, peering back over at Ignis and Gladiolus before making a beeline straight for them.

Prompto was left to follow behind him in a stunned daze. No bowing. No formal titles. Either the prince—er, _Noctis_ , rather—was messing with him, or he was the strangest royal in existence.

“We’re all set,” Noctis told his Shield, nodding towards Prompto. “Hopefully things will be a bit better down there than up here.”

Despite the wary and calculating glance Gladiolus subjected him to, the Shield managed a derisive snort when he retorted, “Pretty sure anything would be better than this.”

That one made Prompto wince, and he couldn’t help but keep his head down as he followed them out the door and down the corridor. He knew that his side won the war and that he was supposed to feel happy, but... Well, it kinda made him a little sympathetic to think about it from their side. After all, to them, there were a ton of unwanted guests in their house making demands. Given how often he saw Loqi the same way, he had to admit he could see where they were coming from.

But it didn’t matter. Niflheim won, Lucis lost, and the prince needed to be disposed of if they were going to have peace on the empire’s terms. That was just how the world worked.

And it was going to be way more difficult if the prince insisted on not acting like one. Most everyone with status in Niflheim was obnoxious levels of proud, especially if they were born under certain names. They strutted around Gralea with their noses in the air as if daring someone to question their superiority.

The entire walk to the elevator, however, Noctis kept his head level and his hands stuffed in his pockets. Prompto didn’t miss how Ignis subtly attempted to fix his posture or the way Noctis’s response was to maneuver himself just out of his advisor’s reach. If Prompto didn’t know any better (and he did—he had received an entire docket on his target before they left Gralea), he would have questioned if this really was Prince Noctis and not some convincing fake. Prompto had caught how King Regis looked at him, though. No way the king would look at a decoy like that.

The weirdness only increased when they entered the kitchen and Ignis turned on the lights. Noctis headed straight over to one of the freezers as if he couldn’t have just announced that his retainers needed to find them something to eat.

“Okay,” he mused quietly instead, pulling open the heavy door. “Gotta be something in here worth making.”

Prompto hesitantly tiptoed his way inside, taking a cue from Ignis and hovering near the wall while he watched Noctis root through what appeared to be a drawer jam-packed with goodies. It was all Prompto could do not to head over himself and check it out. Banquet tables? Sure. The prince’s private stash? Hell no. He wasn’t insane no matter how positive Ignis had been the night before that Noctis wouldn’t mind them stealing his dessert.

A sound of delight signaled that Noctis had apparently found something to his liking, and he spun around to drop a cardboard box on the counter between them.

“You told me they got rid of these!” Noctis exclaimed, leveling Ignis with an accusatory glare.

Prompto froze instantly, absolutely certain that he was about to witness his first outburst from the prince and that poor Ignis was about to be at the receiving end. Only, when he peeked furtively over at the chamberlain, he looked totally unbothered. At worst, he just seemed annoyed.

Sniffing disdainfully, he retorted, “I intended to.”

Noctis merely rolled his eyes and shifted his attention to Prompto while he deftly started opening the box. “You cool with sausage and pepperoni?”

At first, Prompto could only stare at him with his mouth hanging open and no answer forthcoming. That was it? He wasn’t going to dress Ignis down for his sarcasm? He wasn’t going to order him not to get rid of his treasured—pizza, was it? Not only that, but it looked like he had every intention of making their food _himself_.

_I must be dreaming._

He’d felt the same way last night when Ignis handed him a bag full of so much food he wasn’t sure he could eat it all--and that was just the _leftovers_. When Ignis had said he could box up dessert, he’d figured the guy meant dump one pastry into a paper bag or something. He’d hardly expected him to pack up half of dinner in what had to be storage containers he reserved for the prince’s use.

It was so much more than he’d expected that he’d thought for sure it was a trap. Having that stuff in his room if someone came looking... He had no doubt it would appear to them like he had stolen from the royal family--Prompto couldn’t imagine anyone else would have stuff that nice, so it wouldn’t be a huge leap. But Ignis had told him that his room was his own—he could even lock the door if he wanted. That in itself was mind boggling, and now _this_?

This wasn’t how reality worked. If anything, Prompto had been taking his life into his hands coming down here in the first place. Once he was away from the other envoys, there was no telling what could happen. He hadn’t considered the possibility that they would kill him and store his body in the freezer or anything, but... Well, this was even weirder.

Prince Noctis was going to make him lunch.

And he apparently wanted an opinion on it, given the way he was still staring.

“Oh, uh...” Prompto craned his neck to examine the box cautiously. He didn’t know what pizza was—or sausage and pepperoni, come to think of it—but he figured if a prince wanted it, then it had to be pretty good.

“Ain’t got all day here,” Gladiolus grunted, leaning against the counter and nodding at the freezer. “Only other one’s cheese. Take your pick.”

_Sure, let’s piss him off over food. Good going, Prompto._

“No no! Sausage and pepperoni’s good. Thanks, N—Your Highness.”

Prompto forced a grateful smile onto his face, inwardly sighing in relief at his narrowly avoided misstep. Maybe the prince wasn’t a stickler for protocol, but Prompto couldn’t say the same about his retainers, particularly his Shield. If he went around calling him by his actual name in their presence...

Or was _that_ his game? Did the prince want him to skip the title where the wrong people would hear so they could call foul? It didn’t seem like something the Lucians would be keen on doing, yet Loqi wouldn’t have hesitated for an instant to pull that sort of thing.

Apparently, those kinds of games were not part of the prince’s agenda. He sighed right away, meeting Prompto’s eyes with an exasperated, “Seriously, you can just call me Noctis.”

Prompto swallowed hard and nodded, distantly noticing the glance Ignis and Gladiolus exchanged. Okay, so maybe his assumption that this was at least somewhat abnormal wasn’t too far off the mark.

Their open surprise still didn’t explain whatever bizarre relationship they had with their prince. If Ignis had worked for Aldercapt, Prompto had no doubt they’d be shoving _him_ in the oven instead of their lunch.

“Noct, I am not averse to making an actual pizza and saving these for a later date,” Ignis insisted as the prince turned to the oven and began to mess with the dials.

The prince instantly waved off that idea. “Yeah, right. You’ll just make one of those spinach ones with the lumpy tomatoes. No, thanks.”

His chamberlain didn’t bother arguing further, sighing in defeat as Noctis went back to the freezer and set the second box Gladiolus had mentioned next to the first.

“We might as well make the cheese one too,” Noctis explained when Prompto’s eyes widened in shock, brushing off his hands on his pants.  “Gladio eats, like, three slices, and I’m down for two. Specs will eat—what, one? One and a half? What about you, Prompto? How many do you want?”

_This. Is. Unreal._

Prompto shook himself, trying to get his head back in the game with a lot more difficulty than he should have had. The dynamic here kept getting stranger and stranger. It was _Ignis’s_ job to make the food, but instead of just ordering him to cook what he wanted, Noctis was doing it himself? He was _royalty_ —he didn’t have to do that! The kitchen was quiet, probably because all the staff were busy catering the two factions upstairs, but there were _people_ for this. Hell, Prompto didn’t know a thing about making food, but the prince could have tagged him for the task if he really wanted to. It wasn’t like he could refuse.

Preoccupied with the odd display unfolding around him, Prompto barely gave his answer any thought as he mumbled, “Just one’s good...”

“Just one? What, you on that _uptight chamberlain_ diet or somethin’?” snorted Gladio. For once, it didn’t sound like he was being as rude as possible without starting a war, although the wry smirk he shot at Ignis probably had something to do with it.

“Uptight chamberlain diet?” Prompto inquired tentatively. Their food was strictly portioned by their superiors in Niflheim, so it wasn’t a surprise that they had that sort of thing here as well, but Prompto hadn’t gotten that impression what with _all the food_ they ate.

Ignis huffed, adjusting his glasses and attempting to look as unruffled as he could when he shot back, “Far be it from me to not want to dine on inferior excuses for pizza when there are far better nutritional options available.”

Noctis grinned and turned the box pointedly in Ignis’s direction. “Oh, come on, Ignis. That’s why I’m making the cheese one too: you can add whatever weird stuff you want. To _half_ of it.”

“I’m quite satisfied with just the cheese, thank you. Would you at least allow me to make a salad to go along with our _meal_?”

Unless he was reading things wrong, that came out sounding _extremely_ sarcastic to Prompto, who couldn’t figure out what that might mean. It wasn’t like the prince would be eating anything less than the best.

“Specs, if you want a salad, you can make a salad,” Noctis responded, sliding both pizzas into the oven and leaning against the door after he closed it. Prompto had a feeling he was afraid his advisor would swoop in and replace his lunch with something he deemed more appropriate.

_Him? Afraid? C’mon. Get real._

“You sure you only want one, though?” Noctis’s attention was on him again, his expression genuinely curious. “Figured you’d be hungry, what with all the steamrolling you gu--”

“Noct,” Ignis interjected in obvious warning.

Noctis huffed but shrugged off the reprimand with ease. “Whatever. Figured being bored out of your mind works up a pretty big appetite.”

Ignoring the partially unspoken insult, Prompto shifted his weight uncomfortably and briefly debated just saying he wasn’t hungry. They wouldn’t hold that against him, right? Plus, then they wouldn’t have to worry about feeding him when, as Noctis had almost put it, he was one of the guys steamrolling the hell out of Lucis.

And that was another thing—Ignis was his _chamberlain_. He had no business telling the prince what he could and couldn’t say. Getting away with it was even more unexpected, if that were possible, yet Noctis didn’t seem to think anything of it. Even his Shield was going about his business (see: rummaging in the refrigerator for...something) as if it were totally normal.

Maybe...they weren’t in the same boat after all.

Prompto knew he shouldn’t feel so defeated by that, not when his job wasn’t exactly on the up and up, but he couldn’t help the sudden pang of disappointment in the pit of his stomach either. He wasn’t here to make friends, contrary to what he wanted them to believe. It was just nice to remember that everyone had it rough under royalty; it was nice to think he and his unit weren’t the only people who got crapped on every now and again because that was their lot in life while the beautiful people got everything handed to them. The way Ignis and Gladiolus had spoken the night before, he would’ve thought they totally got that.

Except it didn’t seem to be the case here: Noctis was... _nice_. He seemed to seriously care about the people who worked for him.

 _Don’t kid yourself_ , he mused silently. _He’s gotta be nice while the envoys are in town. As soon as they’re gone, it’ll all go back to the way it’s supposed to be._

Which, presumably, meant that Prince Noctis would show his true colors as exactly what every other royal amounted to. All he had to do was wait.

With that thought in mind, Prompto tried to focus once again on the question that had been posed to him and settled on telling the truth. The prince was trying too hard to maintain his facade--he wouldn’t drop it over something like...

“The hell do you mean you don’t know what _pizza_ is?” Gladiolus demanded incredulously, slamming the refrigerator shut without retrieving whatever he’d been looking for.

“Pretty sure I was speaking your language, dude,” he shot back easily with an inward cheer when he earned a good-natured roll of the Shield’s eyes.

Noctis didn’t bother hiding his surprise either. That or the prince was simply _not_ very good at keeping his emotions off his face, which was also a valid option. Either way, he did manage a quick recovery: he picked up the digital timer and kept his eyes trained on that so that he wouldn’t have to meet Prompto’s gaze when he replied, “Well, then, yeah. You’re definitely going to want more than one slice.”

“Unless it is not to his liking,” Ignis suggested reasonably.

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” Noctis pulled a face, as if the very idea was beyond his comprehension, and turned back to Prompto to inquire, “So, what do you eat up in Gralea, then?”

Not this question again. Hadn’t he just answered it last night? ...Well, maybe not. Did sarcasm count? Sarcasm totally counted. Still, based on the way Ignis and Gladiolus were eyeing him, he figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to try the same evasive maneuver twice. That would only arouse suspicion: if he didn’t want them thinking he had something to hide, then he definitely wouldn’t be able to divert two conversations on the same subject. Talk about telling. Besides, whether he was being nice for the time being or not, Noctis _was_ a prince and his target. He wouldn’t be doing himself any favors by brushing off his curiosity.

So, Prompto once again decided on the truth—part of it, anyway.

“We’re, uh...pretty big on health food?” he replied, immediately correcting himself when it looked like Gladiolus might comment on his tone again. “Y’know, nutrient-rich stuff. The things that taste nasty but keep you in shape.”

At the very least, Ignis had to appreciate that. They didn’t need to know that his _nutrient-rich_ diet was full of tasteless vitamin bricks that went down about as easily as concrete. It wasn’t like they didn’t have enough to brag about, anyway.

The prince shot a quick, wary glance to his two retainers like he was hoping that they were going to respond to Prompto’s claim. Neither of them were any help, though, staring at Prompto with eerily identical raised eyebrows.

“Well, that sucks,” Noctis finally muttered when he realized that they weren’t going to take the opening.

If what they had been eating at the Citadel since their arrival was an indication of the prince’s normal dietary habits, then Prompto couldn’t say he disagreed. He’d probably never had anything that wasn’t cooked to perfection in his life, his apparent aversion to anything healthy notwithstanding.

Fortunately, it looked like he’d given them just enough to sate their curiosity for now. The conversation regarding Niflheim’s culinary capabilities was easily set aside as Noctis went back to watching the oven.

 _Score!_ That had actually been pretty easy.

“Is that a nationwide mandate or one solely imposed on the military?” Ignis asked, which instantly drew Noctis’s attention to them again.

Well. So much for his bonus points.

“Uh... Mostly the military, I guess?”

No, there was no room for _guessing_ here. He hadn’t expected Ignis to go there—hadn’t expected him to question anything, as a matter of fact—yet here they were. If he was going to make leaps like that, then Prompto needed to bring his A-game.

“I mean, you know how it is,” he continued, grinning over at Gladiolus in the hopes that the prince’s Shield would back him up. He was a military guy, so if anyone was going to understand, it would be him. At least, that was what he was counting on.

So, of course, Prompto wasn’t that lucky.

“How about you enlighten us,” he suggested, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow.

_Should’ve stayed with Loqi._

Swallowing hard, Prompto chuckled nervously and stammered, “Just, uh, making sure we’re all in fighting form. Don’t want any pudgy soldiers out on the field and all!”

“Understandable,” Ignis replied over Noctis’s indelicate and _very_ un-princely snort. “That would be expected given your military prowess, I should imagine.”

He had a point there. The emperor might not have had any kids, but the army was definitely his baby. Which was a creepy thought that Prompto immediately regretted when he realized what that said about _him_.

Ignis didn’t seem to notice his inward disgust, although he carried on more carefully as he prodded, “Surely you must have had some indulgences prior to joining. When _was_ that, exactly?”

Behind him, Prompto could see the prince’s confusion transform into curiosity as he met his gaze over Ignis’s shoulder. Prompto didn’t read too much into it, though: he was far too relieved that he’d finally been asked a question he could answer without inserting his foot into his mouth and chewing on it. After all, his dossier said that Ignis and Gladiolus had served since they were kids, so he felt no compunction about telling the truth.

“I was like...a year old? Give or take a couple months? Anyway, yeah, not so much indulging goin’ on over here,” he finished with a chuckle. Sure, maybe he’d had something good before he’d been recruited, but he doubted it given the situation. It was better that he didn’t remember--he couldn’t dwell on what he was missing.

Or he _hadn’t_ until he came here to the literal food heaven.

The timer on the oven chose that moment to go off, seeming extra loud in the sudden silence. Noctis quickly turned around and busied himself with their lunch while Ignis nodded with a minute frown.

“Oh, I see,” he replied evenly, and Prompto let out a breath of relief. Finally, a response that didn’t backfire on him. “Are your parents also part of the military?”

That made Prompto huff a laugh, although it was more from the irony than anything else. It wasn’t often he got asked things like that. ...Actually, he’d _never_ been asked, come to think of it. That was only to be expected, though: it wasn’t something you talked about back in Gralea.

“Uh...not that I know of,” he answered, watching Gladiolus hurry to help Noctis with the pizzas. Well, that was pretty surprising: he never would’ve pegged the big guy for willingly doing kitchen duty. It wasn’t Prompto’s favorite, but it sure beat lavatories.

“Well, your impressive length of service certainly does explain your rather prestigious title,” Ignis mused, offering Prompto an approving smile.

That made Prompto feel a bit lighter, and it was easy to smile back as he turned to watch the prince and his Shield dish up their lunch. What a relief--it seemed like he was navigating minefields instead of conversations half the time! The whole three-against-one thing was more than a little unfair, not that he had a right to complain about it. Moments like this, though, were definitely rewarding.

“Yeah,” Noctis chimed in, sliding him a plate filled with two slices, one from each pizza. There wasn’t any venom in the prince’s voice when he continued, “Most of our captains are, like, in their thirties or forties. What are you, eighteen or something?”

For a second, Prompto focused on picking at his lunch, albeit without the gusto Gladiolus exhibited. He could _seriously_ pack it away—it was no wonder they’d made two pizzas when he’d already downed as many slices in the time it took for Prompto to get his. And...well, he had to admit that it didn’t really look like something a prince would eat. It was just bread and cheese with some red stuff to hold it together. This was the _something better_ Noctis had been thinking of?

Saying as much was likely to transform the friendly prince into the kind Prompto was used to, so he kept that observation to himself. Instead, he tried to ignore the sudden urge to tug at the sleeve that hid his barcode from sight as he cautiously lifted his own slice.

“Nope,” he returned with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Just turned twenty in October. Not as ancient as _your_ captains, but past the _saluting without popping zits_ phase. So not fun.”

What had started as a joke left him shuddering at the memory of adjusting his uniforms to hide embarrassing acne, and that wasn’t even mentioning the humiliation they all suffered if they grew too much before it was time for their yearly clothing allotments. Bare ankles in wintertime? Even _more_ not fun.  

...But they didn’t need to know about that.

“Guess it must be all that healthy stuff you eat,” Noctis muttered wryly, grabbing a can from the refrigerator and offering it to Prompto. “You’ve got that youthful glow. Specs does too, but he makes up for it by dressing like he’s selling encyclopedias.”

Ignis responded with a small huff of annoyance but otherwise did not argue with Noctis’s assessment. For once.

Grinning over at his advisor, Noctis took a sip from his can before he added, “I just turned twenty in August, so I guess that makes us the same age.”

“August? Dude, you’re an old man compared to me,” joked Prompto as he opened the proffered drink without checking the label.

He didn’t miss the way Gladiolus paused with his food halfway to his mouth or the glare he shot Noctis when he thought Prompto couldn’t see. Ignis’s expression was carefully blank as he took a bite of his lunch with a subtle grimace of distaste.

Okay, maybe he’d gone too far there. It was just...kinda cool to talk to someone about stuff like this. Ages weren’t a big thing in Niflheim; the only reason he knew his was because his date of birth was encrypted in his barcode. It was a good thing, too: otherwise, this conversation would have gotten super awkward super fast.

Not that it hadn’t already, if Gladiolus’s reaction was anything to go by. Apparently first names were okay but flippant comments weren’t. He was never going to get the hang of this…

Prince Noctis, however, did not appear to be the least bit bothered by his comments. If he noticed the look on his Shield’s face, he elected to ignore it and instead just answered with a small grin of his own, “Yeah? Well, I figured Niflheim was big on respecting elders, given your emperor is rounding a billion.”

“ _Noct_ ,” Ignis sighed, issuing his second warning of the afternoon.

“What?” Noctis huddled lower over his pizza, muttering to the helpless food, “He’s pretty spry for a walking corpse.”

“Please take no offense to His Highness's commentary,” interjected Ignis before he could continue. “We are _all_ looking forward to peace between our nations and putting an end to this war, as I’m sure you are as well.”

The humor seemed to drain from Noctis’s face, and he peered over at Gladiolus instead, taking a long sip of his beverage. His expression was annoyed, but he still didn’t tell Ignis to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured instead, “at least no one else has to die now.”

That was definitely a plus. It wasn’t like Prompto was too bothered by the idea—that was the point of being a soldier. Some days you got lucky; others, maybe both your luck and time ran out. If ending the war meant that his fortunes lasted a little longer, though, then he was cool with that.

 _Un_ fortunately, he wouldn’t be so lucky in this instance. His mission could only end one way, and he’d come to terms with that a while ago. At the very least, his unit would have a chance to keep on keeping on. Not all of them were unmitigated assholes like Loqi, so it wasn’t a total loss.

What really got him was that Noctis actually seemed to _care_ . Prompto had no idea why: it wasn’t like _he’d_ have to fight. He was a prince, which meant he got to stay home and send everyone else out to die instead. He’d live another day while his soldiers gave up everything for him to have another pile of gold or fancy banquet or whatever. It made no sense that he’d give a damn about that kind of thing.

If he was going to get through this lunch, though, he couldn’t afford to think like that. Otherwise, he might not be able to see Noctis as any better than Loqi, and that would be pretty counterproductive with the whole _I Don’t Want To Kill You_ image he had going here.

“Right,” Prompto agreed after a moment, fiddling with the crust of his pizza before trying to push those thoughts aside and lighten the suddenly _way_ too somber mood. “And the emperor gets to live to see a billion and one.”

His efforts were rewarded with a smirk from the prince, which had to be a good sign. He figured that would do for now: it was probably for the best that he didn’t disrespect his sovereign any further, and he stuffed his food into his mouth so he couldn’t use it.

And promptly _lost. His. Shit._

“Oh. Em. _Gee_ . This is _amazing_ ,” he moaned around the bite of cheesy, doughy goodness.

“Told you so!” Noctis responded with enthusiasm that Prompto was pretty sure both Gladiolus and Ignis rolled their eyes at. “They have some where they’ve got cheese baked right into the crust, but we’re out of those.”

The prince suddenly frowned, casting a suspicious glance over at his chamberlain, who sighed in exasperation.

“We have far too much going on here for me to be making runs for frozen pizzas,” he answered Noctis’s unspoken plea crossly. “Your duties as host aside, you also have your community project coming up.”

Community project? As in, going out and helping the community? That sounded like it would bore or annoy a prince, but Noctis appeared to perk up at the reminder.

“Oh, yeah!” Surprisingly enough, Noctis grinned at Prompto in excitement. “I guess you’re still going to be around for that, huh?”

Ignis didn’t let him answer immediately, interjecting, “Well, I imagine it would be a good chance for Prompto to see the city.”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” Noctis waved a hand dismissively at Ignis’s words and surveyed Prompto with a pensive frown. “No offense, but if you’re going to come along, we should probably find you something to wear that doesn’t scream _throw rocks at me_.”

Prompto paused in his chewing to look down at the uniform he’d been so entranced by a couple of days ago. So...okay, maybe the prince had a point. Getting all dressed up like this was good enough for negotiations and meetings and not leaving the Citadel, but going out in public? The Lucians _hated_ them. Seeing him wandering around the city with their prince, knowing that they’d lost the war and why he was there... Well, the whole point of citizens was to protect their royals. They laid down their lives for way less than a treaty as long as it meant the government got what they needed to keep their nations going.

And right now, Lucis wasn’t doing such a good job at that. So, yeah, throwing rocks definitely sounded like a reasonable reaction to his presence.

Still, Loqi had already scolded him enough for borrowing Noctis’s gear (which he really needed to ask Ignis about returning— _note to self_ ). He’d probably implode if he caught Prompto dressing like a Lucian.

 _...Oh, yeah. This is_ so _happening._

There was only one problem.

“Uh...I don’t...have anything else,” mumbled Prompto after he swallowed the soggy yet delicious hunk of pizza he’d been storing in his mouth. Gladiolus raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“You’ve got _nothing_ that’s not an imperial billboard?”

Shrugging, Prompto pointed out, “Comes with the territory, dude.”

“It’s no big deal,” the prince told his Shield as he reached for another slice of pizza.

For a moment, Prompto thought that he was referring to the fact that people would drag him through the streets upon seeing the empire’s insignia emblazoned on his attire. That’s what Prompto would have expected: what royal wouldn’t get a kick out of watching the general public beat the crap out of him in the middle of the street? Hell, you didn’t even have to be royalty to enjoy that. Just an asshole. Loqi would probably be upset if he wasn’t present to see it--front row, center.

Prince Noctis, however, continued to defy reasonable expectations.

“We can just grab him something from my room,” he shrugged carelessly. “No one’ll know he’s a Niff.”

Gladiolus apparently had a different opinion on the matter, one that he was avoiding voicing with a snort into his own drink.

Prince Noctis stole a quick glance at his Shield and frowned in thought before cautiously adding, “You know, at least until we can pick him up some stuff of his own.”

If Prompto didn’t know any better, he would have thought the prince was looking for approval when he turned to Gladiolus again, but that wouldn’t make sense. Why would the prince care if his underlings approved of his decisions?

Whether or not Gladiolus was agreeable to the idea didn’t make much difference, though. Prompto was too busy trying to work out what exactly the prince meant by that. Pick up stuff of his own? That sounded... Well, he knew how it _sounded_ , but that wasn’t possible. It was ludicrous to think that Noctis Lucis Caelum, crown prince of Lucis, was thinking of buying a lowly imperial grunt some new clothes just so they could go out without him getting mobbed. If nothing else, Prompto doubted the king would be on board with wasting state funds on outfits he didn’t really need when he already had so many new ones upstairs. Then again, Lucian royalty had seemed pretty different so far. Maybe, just maybe...

_...Nope, not possible._

When in doubt, Prompto knew it was better not to answer. So, he stuffed the rest of his slice into his mouth to avoid offering an opinion on something he clearly didn’t understand. The prince’s Shield looked like he could handle this one on his own.

“Probably cost a fortune. Gonna need a whole damn wardrobe if you wanna hide that he’s a Niff,” he grumbled over the rim of his drink, eyeing Prompto with a calculating and not at all friendly shrewdness.

His confirmation of Prompto’s assumptions almost made him choke on his food, and he swallowed the lump of pizza with some difficulty before blurting out, “Whoa, wait—you mean, like, _buying_ stuff? Y-You don’t have to do that!”

Staring at him mildly, Gladiolus deadpanned, “Not like we’re makin’ it ourselves.”

As funny as the mental image of that big burly behemoth sewing clothes was, Prompto brushed it aside. He could laugh at that later.

“No, but like, that’s _money_ —and I’m just—I don’t really need—“

“You got a point somewhere in here?”

“Just—y-you don’t—“ Prompto paused, shaking his head and turning to the prince with a pleading expression. “You don’t have to do that. It’s totally cool!”

Prince Noctis shot an apprehensive glance at his Shield and chamberlain, and Prompto could feel the tension uncoiling from his own shoulders at the sight. He had seen this before: Gladiolus expressing his displeasure at the idea, Noctis conceding and letting it go. Yeah, Prompto still found it weird that the prince allowed either of them a say in dictating his actions, but for once he was grateful for it. He didn’t need to open himself up to more dislike within this little group by accepting clothes paid for by the royal treasury.

Plus, he hardly thought the emperor would relish the idea of Lucis using his future coffers to clothe a soldier that would be dead before this was all over. It would be better for everyone if they let the matter drop.

Of course, luck was never on Prompto’s side.

The prince frowned at Gladiolus, the annoyance in his voice clearly meant for his Shield instead of Prompto when he replied, “We can’t _all_ run around topless.”

To Prompto’s surprise, the Shield didn’t respond, although his glare spoke volumes. Noctis didn’t exactly retreat, but it was pretty obvious as he shifted his attention to Ignis that he knew there was no winning that silent argument.

“I got some cash saved up from my job, right?” he inquired with a shrug. “Should be enough to get us a couple of outfits.”

_...What._

Prompto’s eyes darted between both retainers, and he was glad to see that at least he wasn’t the only one completely shocked by this turn of events. Ignis was the first to recover, which was probably for the best since it looked like Gladiolus was either cooking up a pretty nasty retort or about to spontaneously combust. One or the other.

“You do…” The chamberlain drew out his words as if buying time to choose his next ones carefully. “I thought you were saving that to purcha--”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Prince Noctis cut Ignis off before the latter could reveal what he had been saving up for. “In the meantime, I’ll just send some stuff to his room. That cool?”

His question was meant for Prompto this time, and he very eloquently tripped all over himself to reassure him, “Th-That’s... I mean, _no_ , it’s—“

Prompto never got a chance to say what _it_ was, but maybe that was for the best. If Prince Noctis was going to give him his own clothes and pay for new ones, he had to want something. That was how it worked, and no amount of arguing on Prompto’s part was going to change that. All he’d wind up doing was pissing the prince and his Shield off (more than he had already, in the latter’s case), which would make his job that much harder.

Wearing Noctis’s clothes for a couple of outings? Bearable. Screwing himself over and getting executed for not being grateful enough? Yeah, he’d rather avoid that.

So, he was in luck after all when Gladiolus pointedly checked the clock on the wall and interrupted him to say, “Time to get back. Ain’t gonna be pretty if we’re late.”

_I never thought I’d be happy to hear that._

When the prince had invited him to lunch, Prompto had believed it couldn’t be worse than eating with Loqi. Sure, it might have been a trap where they stuffed him in a freezer and left him there to _not_ rot, but that was preferable to listening to his commander bitch about the food. As they made their way back to the council chambers, however, he was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to stay where he was. Then he would have avoided the uncomfortable dilemma of how chummy he should get with the prince before he backed off to keep from spilling some major beans.

 _Or_ , he thought when he caught a glimpse of Loqi’s nose in the air as they took their former positions, _maybe I didn’t do so bad_.

 

***

 

Noctis leaned back in his seat, hazarding a wary glance at his Shield. He knew that Gladio had been pissed about the whole lending and buying clothes thing ever since they’d gotten back to the negotiation table—it was impossible to tell which steamed him more. Although he hadn’t mentioned it after they left the kitchen, Noctis had known him long enough to be well aware of it when he wasn’t pleased with something. That didn’t mean Noctis was going to be dissuaded from his chosen course of action, though. If anything, he was even more determined. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the situation, was all.

As far as he was concerned, making sure that Prompto wasn’t wandering around Insomnia advertising that he was on _Team Douchebag_ was a good thing. Noctis assumed it would only make Gladio’s job easier if he didn’t have to guard against angry citizens who were trying to get at the captain. In fact, Gladio should have been on board with the idea, maybe even _thanking_ Noctis for willingly donating his own money for the cause—the money that he _had_ been planning to put towards a birthday gift for Luna.

Gladio didn’t need to know about that, though. Noctis was still pretty sore that Ignis had found out to begin with.

Thankfully, there was no time to dwell on it right now, as the negotiations—if they could even be called that—were winding down. All things considered, he supposed he should at least look like he was paying attention, being the prince and all. Besides, Noctis was sure there would be a discussion later about whatever happened that Gladio didn’t like.

And if he knew Gladio like he thought he did, it would be as soon as he got back to his room.

_Great._

While his father concluded the proceedings for today, Noctis stayed in his seat, leaning forward a bit to watch the Niffs file out and head to dinner. They were all, of course, passive-aggressively discussing how completely unreasonable Lucians were when it came to peace terms as if they weren’t sitting here listening to every word. When you were on the winning side, that was only to be expected.

It still made Noctis scoff. _Yeah, basic freedoms are pretty hard terms to ask for._

All of their unwanted guests seemed to think so—well, save for Prompto, who wasn’t offering his opinion from where he was trudging along at the back of the contingent. It was a gentle reminder that Noctis hadn’t drawn the short straw when it came to playing host. That honor had gone to his father, who he resolved to wait for instead of going straight to his chambers. Dinner the night before had gone well, but he could tell his dad was exhausted, so he’d made up an excuse to end the evening early. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to see him again now that the negotiations were in full swing; if he could get in a quick word to update him on how things were going before they both retired, he was going to take it.

Which was why he couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that made his chest ache when he got a good look at his father. If he’d thought he looked tired last night, it was nothing compared to how wiped out he seemed now. He was trying to hide it, but Noctis could tell. After all, he’d worn that same expression every time he worked too late and showed up to dinner dragging; asking about his day and attempting to make what little small talk a much younger version of himself would allow didn’t take away the shadows around his eyes or the slight downward turn of his lips. There was no mistaking that look now, not even when it was tinged with some well-deserved irritation at what they’d spent the whole day doing. It left Noctis wondering whether this was really the best time.

 _Not like I’ll get many others_ , he reminded himself with an inward sigh. It was difficult enough to secure an audience with his father as it was. If it was as simple as catching him on his way out the door, then he needed to take advantage of the opportunity.

So, ignoring Gladio’s quiet question of where he was going, he made to follow his father as the latter strode out of the chamber and spoke in hushed tones to Drautos.

And got way more than he’d bargained for.

“His position makes him a credible threat,” his dad was saying, his voice unyielding even though Drautos hadn’t tried to get a word in yet. “Clarus has already ensured that he will be monitored closely for the duration of his stay, but I would still prefer the guarantee that a Glaive will be within sight at all times, as well.”

_I really hope he’s not talking about me._

That wasn’t likely, but he was keeping his fingers crossed anyway. After all, it would be too much to think that his father wouldn’t worry about him in addition to the countless other concerns the empire represented. It wasn’t totally impossible that he was speaking of one of the other envoys, though. Yeah, that could be it.

Now, if only he could convince himself of that.

Noctis drew in a sharp breath: his father hadn’t seen him yet, so if he wanted to find out how he could be play this game more like the protector and less like the protected, he would need to keep it that way.

It was fortunate that both Drautos and his dad were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn’t notice him conceal himself near one of the ornate pillars that decorated the room. Even better was the fact that, on the other side of the chamber, Gladio rolled his eyes but otherwise made no move to stop him or reveal his location.

“Your Majesty,” Drautos answered, the frown evident in his voice, “you must realize the Glaive is stretched thin as it is. Unless you mean to pull back on the daemon patrols in the outer territories before the empire takes over, I haven’t any men to spare. Surely the prince's retainers are more than capable.”

Damn. They _were_ talking about him.

“I do not doubt their capabilities,” his father retorted sharply. “It is those of the captain that remain unclear. Until such time as we are better able to ascertain his purpose, there is no precaution too great to provide.”

Wait, he couldn’t actually be thinking of ordering a retreat all for _Noctis_...could he?

No. No way. It wasn’t possible. For one thing, he didn’t need it; for another, his dad cared too deeply about their people to remove their protection before the treaty took effect. That was why he had strengthened the Kingsglaive’s presence in the outlying regions to begin with: while he had agreed to host the empire here in Insomnia, he’d hoped to do what he could for his subjects while it was still within his power. There was no chance he would remove that protection all for Noctis’s sake.

Luckily, he knew his dad well and was completely unsurprised when he continued, “I do not intend to abandon our people’s defenses, not so long as we hold those positions. There are as yet a small number of Glaives at my own disposal. You may reassign them to my son.”

Okay. Somehow, that was worse.

If his father removed the Glaives from his own guard just to protect him, he’d only be leaving himself all the more exposed. Crystal powers or not, the prospect gave Noctis an uneasy feeling, not to mention making him completely ashamed of himself. Figuring out Prompto’s purpose was the one task he had been set, and until he achieved his goal, his father was going to worry to the point of endangering his own life.

Which meant his attention was divided. Which meant that the emperor would have more opportunities to take advantage of him and the entire kingdom. And for what? All for the sake of one prince? It wasn’t a thought that Noctis relished.

Drautos appeared to agree with him as he answered, “Your Majesty must be aware of your own position in the emperor’s sights. I do not think it wise of us to forgo your protection when the threat leveled against you is much greater than the prince.” He paused briefly, clearly aware of how his father would feel about that response. “However, if it is acceptable to you, I will see to the captain personally.”

Noctis could tell from the stony silence that it _wasn’t_ acceptable to his father in the slightest, but he didn’t immediately argue. After all, Drautos wasn’t the leader of the Kingsglaive for nothing: he was strong and capable and more than enough to deal with one Niff soldier, no matter how odd he might be. If anything, he’d probably be in a pretty foul mood when he realized he was babysitting someone like Prompto— _if_ Noctis’s father agreed to it, of course.

It turned out that he had little choice, although Noctis could hear that it cost him something to murmur, “That will be adequate for the time being. I expect frequent reports, and if he lays so much as a finger on Noctis...”

His dad trailed off, but he could hear the words all the same: _I will end him myself._

Rather than say so and deepen the unfathomable well of guilt in Noctis’s gut, his father’s cane clicked against the tile again as he strode towards the door. For a moment, he thought that was it—matter handled and all that. It was a good thing he didn’t immediately head back to where Gladio was waiting with folded arms and raised eyebrows, though, because it would have given him away when his dad paused.

“And another thing,” he added quietly, almost out of earshot. “See to it that the envoys are scrutinized closely in the coming days. Should they seek to renounce their dedication to this so-called peace, we may very well have need to act with haste.”

That would have been laughable in another time, another circumstance, with another person. As it stood, his father was exhausted enough: his voice was weary and he seemed dragged down by the weight of his convictions, leading Noctis to wonder if he’d find the strength to counter the empire if they _did_ have something dirty up their sleeves.

As their voices and footsteps began to fade down the corridor, their conversation shifting to Glaive rotations outside the Wall, Noctis turned to find Gladio practically right on top of him. If the way his Shield surveyed him with his arms crossed over his chest was anything to go by, then Noctis could only assume he wasn’t impressed.  

“Aren’t you supposed to be spying on the Niff and not your dad?”

He rolled his eyes impatiently. Fine, he had a point, but this was information he wouldn’t have gotten any other way. That in itself troubled him: was his father so worried about his well-being that he would sacrifice himself like this without a second thought? In spite of these peace talks, was Niflheim so likely to try something that would put the whole of Insomnia at risk?

He couldn’t allow the sole protection of their kingdom to fall on his father’s shoulders entirely, not to mention his own. Noctis had moved back to the Citadel to help him, and that’s what he needed to start doing—that meant more than just entertaining Prompto in the hopes of some insight.

How was he supposed to do that, though?

Only one thing came to mind, but the problem was that he’d need his father’s permission to do it. Given how things were going so far, he doubted that was going to be easy.

Pushing past an irritated Gladio, Noctis hurried across the chamber and approached his advisor, interrupting a conversation he was apparently having with another retainer Noctis didn’t recognize.

“Ignis.”

That might have been a little out of turn--or a lot out of turn. That was neither here nor there. Ignis could berate him for his rude behavior later, but right now, Noctis couldn’t be bothered to patiently wait for them to conclude their business.

For his part, Ignis didn’t look too happy with the intrusion but kept any disapproving remarks to himself; it might have been the worry Noctis could feel tightening his own face that stayed his tongue. Instead, his chamberlain merely frowned at him after a momentary glance at his Shield.

“What is it?”

“You think you can get my dad to meet with me tonight?” Noctis asked, peering briefly in the direction his father had gone. “I need to ask him something. It’s really important.”

“I’m sure His Majesty is occupied with the stress of today’s meetings. Perhaps I can have your message delivered to him?”

_Yeah, the stress thing is pretty much the point._

Noctis shook his head. “No, I need to tell him myself.”

Ignis sized him up and, for the moment, apparently found nothing suspicious about Noctis’s insistence. So, he conceded with a firm nod, “I cannot say for certain that he will be able to meet with you, but I’ll see what I can manage. For the time being, you and Gladio should head back to your room. I’ll deliver word there shortly.”

_Great. Alone time with Gladio._

After everything that had happened down in the kitchen, he had no doubt that his Shield wasn’t exactly thrilled with his choices. Noctis was _not_ looking forward to defending his position while mentally working out how to present his idea to his dad, that was for sure. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew his father had it ten times worse, he would have wondered how he ended up with such terrible luck.

“Just make sure he knows it’s urgent,” Noctis called to Ignis as the latter left them, presumably to see his father’s chamberlain about an audience.

It was tough to swallow his lack of an answer, but Noctis tried to put it out of his head as he followed suit with Gladio in tow. He didn’t think Ignis would ignore his wishes: his advisor was damn good at understanding when his desires were serious and when he was just blowing off steam. Still, Ignis was also a stickler for rules, and if his father said he was too busy, Noctis worried Ignis wouldn’t press the issue. With so much riding on this—on _him_ —he couldn’t accept that.

There was nothing he could do besides lead the way to his chambers in silence, however. He could cross that bridge when they came to it.

The relief he usually felt when he was finally shut away from the Niffs was conspicuously absent as he threw himself into an armchair, but he forced himself not to dwell on it. It wasn’t like he had time for that, especially not with Gladio glaring at him the way he was as he closed the door firmly behind them.

_Oh, here we go._

Maybe it was too optimistic of him to think his Shield would let him have a minute to breathe before he started talking his version of sense into Noctis. He had, after all, been holding his comments in ever since lunch; now it was nearing dinnertime, and he’d made it this far without so much as a grunt of disapproval. That had to count for something, right?

Noctis tried to keep that in mind as Gladio grumbled, “So, what—you’re playing _Dress the Dimwit_ now?”

Every time he thought that he and Gladio were making some sort of progress towards finding common ground, he was quickly brought back to reality in moments like this.

“Figured I’d be doing you a favor,” Noctis retorted, too frustrated by the million thoughts vying for his attention to keep his tone civil. “Your job gets a hell of a lot harder if I’m showing him around the city in that stupid uniform.”

Noctis knew that Gladio didn’t want Prompto near his room again, so his only choice was to loan him one thing and then just get him his own. Sharing clothes seemed a little too buddy-buddy for his tastes anyway, not that either of his friends were remotely close enough to the same size to give it a shot. Besides, Noctis couldn’t help but wonder if Prompto _had_ normal clothes. If he did, why did he only bring uniforms when his entire purpose was to shadow the prince? It seemed a little counterproductive. Then again, most of the Niffs’ actions were counterproductive, so it actually sort of fit.

Noctis frowned at that, his thoughts drifting back to what he had initially wanted to report to his father. Gladio wasn’t exactly the ideal recipient for his query, but even though he loathed to admit it, Noctis valued his opinion nonetheless.

“Was it just me,” he started cautiously, “or was some of the stuff he was saying at lunch seriously weird?”

For a few seconds, it looked like Gladio might not accept the change of subject and pursue his irritation at Noctis’s decision. Then, rolling his eyes, his shoulders slumped in something like defeat as he slouched over and collapsed into the seat across from him.

“ _He’s_ seriously weird, if you ask me,” Gladio grumbled under his breath. “But yeah, I know what you mean. Doesn’t look like the Niffs are picky about who they recruit.”

“How do you _recruit_ a one-year-old, though?” Noctis asked, genuinely disturbed by the idea. If Cor joining up at thirteen had been a big deal, then he could only imagine how out of place someone at that age would be.

Of course, the emperor probably didn’t care about that kind of thing. They all knew that Niflheim’s military was a particularly strange level of vicious: a few of the reports that Ignis had brought him over the years indicated that, at times, large numbers of their soldiers were just being thrown at the Glaive without remorse. Noctis had once wondered what would possess so many people to join up with such a callous institution, but unless Prompto was an oddity, Noctis was left to wonder if choice was even involved.

“I mean, maybe he’s lying, but…” Noctis trailed off. He didn’t want to come right out and say that he didn’t think that was the case, but really, what reason would Prompto have to lie about that?

_For pity._

Noctis sighed to himself, shaking off that thought. Prompto had offered that information so casually, as if he thought it were commonplace and not the strangest thing Noctis had ever heard. It couldn’t possibly be just for pity, could it?

“ _But_ stranger things have happened than the empire being full of jackasses,” Gladio finished for him, actually on his side for a change. Noctis would have commented on it if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t want his Shield to change his mind on principle.

Come to think of it, Noctis figured this was an issue that would definitely strike a deep chord with Gladio. After all, he’d been born into his position; he’d known from the time he was little that he would be part of the Crownsguard. He’d always had a choice, though: if he didn’t want to be Shield to the future king, he could step down. No one would force him, even if it would have been unheard of for an Amicitia to deny the royal family their service. To hear Prompto speak of his own record, to hear him unintentionally hint at the possibility that he hadn’t been given that choice... Well, Noctis thought he knew why Gladio’s jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle was twitching in his cheek.

A moment passed in tense silence before his Shield took a deep breath and seemed to deflate a bit in his seat. Shaking his head, he glanced over at Noctis with an exasperated expression that spoke of an incoming conversation he probably didn’t want to have.

“Look, whatever Captain Cretin says, it doesn’t change a thing,” he pointed out firmly, although his voice didn’t have the same edge it did during their discussion in the training room. “If what he said is true, then yeah, the Niffs have a hell of a lot to answer for. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

He stopped himself before he could say more, but Noctis had a feeling he already knew what he was thinking: _it might make him an even bigger threat._ If Prompto had been with the empire’s military since he was a year old, then he had spent a lifetime internalizing everything they were all about. In that case, he could be more dangerous than they’d anticipated.

That was what Gladio would think, anyway.

Noctis, however, wasn’t sure what he thought. Of course, he could see where Gladio would be right: nineteen years was a long time to train someone and a long time to ingrain values and mindsets, none of which were good when the empire came into play. So, maybe Prompto was a lost cause. Maybe he should back off and keep the Niff captain at as far a distance as he could without the envoy making a fuss. Gladio would probably be thrilled with that decision.

Still, Noctis was hesitant to pull the trigger on that one. That wasn’t the only possibility, and as much he knew Gladio would loathe to hear it, he wasn’t convinced that was what was going on here. There had been moments in the time he had spent with Prompto where the lines between Lucian and Niff had blurred, and he hadn’t regarded the other as an enemy soldier as much as his Shield probably would have liked.

It was a dangerous road to start traversing, but Noctis hoped that if the plan he was working out in his head went the way he wanted, the whole Prompto problem would become easier.

“Kinda does a little bit, though,” Noctis muttered with a tiny frown, looking away as soon as the words escaped his mouth to avoid seeing the annoyance flash across his friend’s face. “You did say that him joining their army was reason enough to know he’s bad, but what’s it mean if he didn’t join it?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Gladio grunted wordlessly before he finally got out, “Even if he didn’t join because he wanted to, we’re still talkin’ about twenty years workin’ for the Niffs. That’s gotta leave a mark.”

Noctis answered with a noncommittal hum. Typical Gladio—he knew exactly what that meant: _fair point, kid, but I’m still right._

He didn’t like the thought of all this, though. If the empire was off dragging in children that young without giving them a choice, was that what was in store for the territories they would acquire from Lucis? The notion alone gave Noctis’s insides a sick twist and his resolve all the more reason to make something out of his plan. It was that or sit back and watch as Niflheim systematically destroyed every last corner of Eos.

Masking his concern with an innocent shrug, he offered his friend a sheepish smile. “Guess we’re gonna have to find out a little more before we make that judgment, huh?”

He didn’t wait for Gladio’s response to that one, not that he couldn’t predict it anyway. He was probably half hoping that Noctis would give up on the _nice_ approach, which definitely wasn’t happening just yet. There was no use arguing about it either, so he quickly stood up, making a show of stretching.

“I’m going to get changed. Let me know if Ignis comes back with news.”

“Uh huh. Sure thing,” muttered Gladio without his usual insistence that he wasn’t a butler. Noctis would have questioned it, but he figured that if he’d given his Shield something to think about, then that was good enough for now.  

So, Noctis retreated into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. When he turned around, however, he was surprised and a little disappointed to see that he wasn’t as alone as he would have expected. It appeared that he still had one visitor left to attend to.

“See you remembered where this room was,” Noctis greeted Umbra, who was waiting for him beside one of his sofas.

The dog took his time, giving himself a good shake before trotting over to him and allowing him to retrieve the notebook from his back. Idly, Noctis scratched behind his companion’s ears as he flipped through the pages. If he had known Umbra was going to be paying him a visit, he would have snuck something from lunch.

No matter, though. A quick phone call and he could make sure the messenger got a proper treat for his delivery.

Giving him one final pat on the head, Noctis wandered over to sit on his bed after finding the newest entry in the notebook. Umbra followed at his heels, laying down next to his feet as he read:

 

 

> _Dear Noctis,_
> 
> _I hope you will forgive me for saying that I am pleased to hear of your return to the Citadel. In the trying days ahead, I believe there is no safer place to be, and I am sure King Regis is relieved to welcome you home once more._
> 
> _Regarding the treaty, I am wary to say much even here lest Umbra ever run afoul of those who mean Lucis ill. Just know that you have my sympathy in your plight and that I intimately understand the difficulty you now face._
> 
> _You must not lose hope.  In time, you will come to see the enormity of the role you play in so many lives. What the treaty represents is more important than the emperor’s pride, and I am confident that your father will meet him with strength and courage, just as I know you will._
> 
> _Would that I could be there to ease the burden you must bear._
> 
> _Have faith, my dear Noctis. In this, too, there can be found peace._
> 
> _Yours always,_
> 
> _Luna_

Noctis read the note and then immediately reread it. From anyone else, the sentiment of knowing all too well what he was facing might have rung a bitter note. In fact, that would have been more Ravus’s speed, but not Luna. Noctis found he was able to take comfort from her words alone, as well as a strengthening resolve in light of what he hoped to do. He would not allow himself to let her down by not meeting her expectations.

And that started with writing her back.

There were often times he felt at a loss regarding how to respond to Luna; his own words paled in comparison to her well-crafted syntax. He couldn’t be the only one, though: Noctis fully believed Luna’s well-spoken manner was part of the reason the public adored her.

Sure, the whole _Oracle_ business probably had something to do with it, but Noctis liked just _Luna_ , so he had to assume that her status couldn’t possibly be the only reason.

After taking a pen from one of his bedside tables, he settled back down to send his reply. While he didn’t believe himself to be as articulate as she was, Noctis did find it easier to express what he wanted to convey on paper than he did out loud, so the words poured easily from his hand.

 

 

> _Dear Luna,_
> 
> _I have to admit that being back here isn’t as bad as I thought. I guess it’s easier to deal with what’s going on when you have people you can trust close by._
> 
> _Treaty negotiations have already started, if you can believe that. I’ve been there the whole time, if for no other reason than to support my dad. I haven’t been able to do much, but the emperor gave me a project of my own to focus on anyway. They brought along one of their captains—he’s my age. Apparently, they’re leaving him here after the treaty is signed. I’m supposed to be his guide or something._
> 
> _Trust me, you’ve helped more than I could ask, and I wouldn’t want you to have to be here with the emperor lurking around. Thank you, though. I hope this treaty can end up being a good thing for all of us._
> 
> _Sincerely yours,_
> 
> _Noctis_

After a quick glance to assure himself that nothing he had written would be dangerous in the wrong hands, Noctis closed the notebook and looked back at Umbra.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to send you off without something for the road,” he promised, rummaging through one of the drawers in his bedside table again until he found the small bag of treats he kept there. While it wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as frozen pizza, he hoped that Umbra would be happy with the offering.

While the dog didn’t take offense to it--at least not enough to shun the food--he also didn’t seem like he wanted to stick around any longer than he had to. Noctis understood that one: he didn’t relish being in a Niff-filled palace either.

“I’ll get you something better next time,” he murmured as he slid the notebook into Umbra’s satchel and sent him off with one final scratch behind the ears.

He’d hardly turned around when a knocking at his door had Noctis glancing back in surprise, but Umbra was already gone. That wasn’t exactly the first time that had happened, yet it got Noctis every time.

“Yeah?” he called as he headed towards the door, unworried that the person on the other side meant him harm in spite of all his training.  

First of all, would-be assassins didn’t knock. Second, they didn’t make it past Gladio.

So, he wasn’t at all taken aback to see Ignis the moment he opened the door.

“Noct, if you wish to speak to your father, he states that he would be happy to see you now,” he immediately announced with a curious twitch of his eyebrow.

Well, at least he brought good news--Noctis could ignore his obvious puzzlement as to why he wanted to see his dad in the first place.

With a heavy sigh, he tossed his tie on his bed and steeled himself for what he planned to ask. His father might not be as happy to see him when he heard what he wanted. No going back now, though.

“Yeah, let’s go.”


	8. Desperate Measures

Regis counted himself most fortunate that he was able to wait until Ignis left his chambers before he slumped into his seat, gripping his cane tightly in one hand while the other rose to cover his face. In light of the events that had transpired today, he would have thought his son would keep his distance, not seek his company. After all, what was there to speak of? His own performance in the day’s proceedings had been worthless; every word he’d said seemed a meaningless effort when not one made a difference in the future of the territories that were about to be stolen from them.

Noctis should have been appalled at his weakness. He should have been disgusted at his impotence.

Instead, he sought an audience.

Then again, was that truly such a difficult denouement to fathom? Was it so hard to believe that Noctis would have enough compassion to understand the plight Regis found himself in? In so many ways, he was the most caring and genuine individual Regis had ever met; his was an open heart, one that viewed those around him with an optimistic willingness to hear what they had to say before he judged the quality of their character. No one else in Lucis would have been able to make the decision he had regarding the envoy’s captain--of that, Regis had no doubt. It was not something that he had played a part in: he had done so little in raising Noctis that he took none of the credit for the man he had become. That did not for an instant douse the flame of his pride and gratefulness that his son had grown into the sort of person who would visit his father when his mind and soul should have been filled with righteous rage at his inability to do anything of use.

Regis could not say the same for his obvious disdain during the negotiations, however. Although the imperial contingent had been oblivious to his subtle gestures, Regis could at least claim to know his son well enough to register them himself. Those sarcastic twitches of his lips, the clear temptation to roll his eyes, the biting comments that he disguised as genuine questions--each one had indicated to Regis that his heir apparent felt the selfsame condescension as he had. Whether it was in response to the proceedings in general or the pretentious, discourteous simpleton of a commander who had attempted to insult him at every turn, Noctis had exuded the kind of contempt that only Regis and his closest retainers could recognize.

And honestly, if it weren’t for his position as king, Regis would have admitted to feeling the same way. The display of imperial aggression not only on the battlefield but in private company as well was more than a mere humiliation. Regis could have handled that, even if it meant enduring the shame with which his people—even his son—would likely judge him someday. He had ruled over Lucis for many long years, however, and his pride was not easily damaged.

The true injury in the matter was all they were losing. Stalemates were not usually broken with ease, yet Regis had no leg to stand on, metaphorically speaking. They had lost the war, and as such, anything that the empire demanded was their right. Regis could fight it all he dared; he could speak in defense of his people and his kingdom all he liked, but it would mean little if Aldercapt chose to do as he pleased. There were some small provisions in the treaty that the emperor was more willing to cede ground on than others, but Regis did not fool himself into believing that it was due to some expert skills of persuasion on his part. No, those small victories were simply meant to accentuate the fact that in other matters, he was utterly helpless to protect his kingdom and deliver what his people needed.  
  
It was the worst sort of emasculation, one that cut him to his core. He hid it well under the scrutiny of his opposition, though, as any king would. Now was not the time to show weakness regardless of how this entire occasion centered around just that. There were monsters across the table who knew it just as well—he would not give them the satisfaction of believing they had defeated him in his own home.

He would not give them the satisfaction of making him a fool before his son.

His son, who would be arriving shortly. When he did, he could not discover his father in this vulnerable state. Noctis was still young; he needed the reassurance that all would be settled one way or another. He needed the reassurance that whatever happened, wherever they went from here, he and his future were secure. No room remained for anything else in Regis’s heart: if he was to protect but one thing, then it would always be his son.

It began with himself. In spite of the exhaustion that seemed to weigh his muscles down more thoroughly than usual, Regis leaned heavily on his cane and rose to his feet when he heard the entrance to his outer chambers open and a guard announce his son’s presence. It required more energy than he would have thought to cross his bedchamber to the door, but when he opened it, his smile was genuine.

“Noctis,” he greeted his son with a gesture to enter his room.

It appeared that Noctis had already attempted to shrug off the burden of the negotiations. His collar was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was perhaps discarded somewhere in his chambers to be dealt with later. It was not like him to tarry in uncomfortable formal wear, regardless of his audience. What his son _hadn’t_ been able to dislodge was the deep-seated concern that had been etched upon his face since the afternoon session had begun. If anything, Regis thought that the worried downward turn of his lips had only become more prominent in the intervening hours.  
  
“Thanks,” Noctis muttered, glancing around the chamber as he entered in an obvious move to avert his attention rather than assure himself that they were alone. “Sorry to push this on you suddenly. I, uh...well, I had kind of an idea about how to deal with the empire, but I wanted to run it by you first.”  
  
The apprehension in his son’s tone spoke volumes. Whatever Noctis’s plan might be, it sounded as though he expected Regis to brush it off entirely as somehow not worth his time. Sadly, it was an understandable concern on his part: most of his input at the negotiations thus far had been instantly discarded by the representatives of Niflheim.

Like so many other facets of their plight, there was little Regis could do but interject where feasible and offer disdainful glares to anyone who ranked lower than the emperor. Even that was potentially tempting fate: what with their present position in the proceedings, Aldercapt was well within his rights to demand that Regis treat his people with the same sort of deference he did their leader. It would be unlikely when he enjoyed the privilege of his station far more than anything besides conquering his neighbors, of course, but the possibility remained. As much as Regis wanted to defend his son and his opinions, he feared that he would be placing him in even greater danger were he to actively attempt to dissuade the snide, often cruel comments directed towards him. Caution had to be his first priority in this case, especially when there was an imperial soldier following in Noctis’s footsteps everywhere he went.  
  
_Nearly_ everywhere, as it happened. Noctis had not brought the captain here, unsurprisingly enough, which meant it was simply the two of them when Regis closed the door and turned to face him.  
  
No, there was little he could do about Niflheim and their apparent disregard for any traditional apportionment of respect. In his private chambers, however, in the safety of the place they could at least call home, he would be damned if he gave Noctis reason to suspect that he cared not for what was going on in that head of his. It was a good head and set upon good shoulders; Regis had recognized that when he was but a tiny child. Whatever had brought him here with such urgency was not to be taken lightly, at least not by him.  
  
“I confess myself quite nervous to hear it,” he joked gently, patting Noctis’s shoulder as he passed and lowering himself into one of the armchairs near the window. Gesturing for his son to do the same, he inquired immediately and without humor, “What is this idea of yours?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Noctis settled down in the seat across from him. If Regis didn’t know any better, he would have said that his son was losing his nerve and rethinking his decision to share his plans. That was rather ludicrous, though: if there was one thing Noctis had never shied away from, it was sharing his opinion, however contrary it might be to the manner in which he knew they were meant to conduct themselves as royalty.

As such, that impression passed as quickly as it had arrived. Noctis appeared to steel himself, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

“I was just thinking that maybe we—well, _I_ could see if we can get some help from the Crystal.” As if sensing Regis’s sudden apprehension at the mere mention of that stone, Noctis quickly reasoned, “It would make more sense if I did it, right? The emperor might notice if you tried something, but probably not so much me...”

He trailed off, staring at the floor as though he did not dare to meet Regis’s gaze as he waited for a reaction.

And what a reaction indeed.  
  
What he would have liked to say was that they could leave the Crystal out of this, that it had caused them more trouble than it was worth and Regis would not allow it to steal yet more from him. What he would have liked to say was that there was no reason to seek the aid of the Six, not when their own hands were capable of managing the situation. What he would have liked to say was that there was no use pleading with the Crystal, because he had already done so on numerous occasions, each with less success than the last as he struggled to salvage what little he could of his kingdom.  
  
He said none of that, however. Whether it was the certainty of Noctis’s disappointment if he did or merely his own knowledge that every excuse was nothing more than that, he could not form the words. By all accounts, he should have been pleased that his son was thinking like a king: only a true Lucian monarch would make decisions with the power of the Crystal in mind, for only they knew the true extent of its might. That he had encountered difficulty today and recognized the boon they carried, perhaps their sole advantage over their enemies (if it could be called that), was encouraging.  
  
It should have been. It should have made Regis smile and congratulate his son on a strategic decision well made.  
  
Instead, he nodded slowly and cautiously as he observed, “The Crystal is indeed formidable, as is the being that resides within. Ever have the Six served Lucis and expected the same in return, yet their aid has been intermittent in this war at best. What is it that you intend by communing with the Draconian?”

Noctis fidgeted a bit, leading Regis to suspect that perhaps he hadn’t thought this through as entirely as either of them had initially believed. It would not be the first time a future king hastened to make a decision without understanding what it was they sought to do.

He was proven wrong a few moments later when Noctis sighed, “I’ve got reason to believe that their soldiers might not be totally willing participants in all this. So, I thought...well, what happens to the territories we lost? Do they have to become part of the empire’s army? And then how long will it take for them to feel big enough to bring us down using people we were supposed to protect?”  
  
His son scoffed, glaring at the edge of one of the end tables. It was bolstering to hear him sound so truly disgusted with the notion, however disarming his proposed course might be.

“I mean, we can’t just do nothing, right? We need a Plan B in case the whole truce with Niflheim doesn’t last.” Shrugging, he concluded resolutely, “I thought that maybe I could ask for a little help or some direction, you know? Unless the Astrals are all cool with being under Niflheim’s thumb.”

Regis was well aware that that was certainly not a possibility the Six relished, yet they tended to remain silent on the matter regardless. It was beneath them in so many ways, this petty battle between the wills and egos of men. They had no reason to intervene when it was the task of the Lucian kings to protect their precious Crystal, not themselves. So it was ordained, and thus had it always been.  
  
Even so, Regis could not bring himself to immediately deny Noctis’s request. There were likely matters he had not taken into account, and it was rather difficult to believe that the entirety of Noctis’s thoughts had been laid bare for him if he had. As much as he wanted to trust that his son was telling him the whole truth, there was also no denying that parts of his tale made little sense. Why were the Six their only hope all of a sudden? Why was it necessary to seek their guidance? Yes, the notion that conscription was mandatory in Niflheim was distressing, but why was Noctis the one who must go to the Crystal about such matters? If nothing else, _Regis_ was far better suited to the task: he was already closely tied to their shared birthright, and he had spoken with the Draconian on numerous occasions. It stood to reason that he, not his son, should take the action the latter was proposing in that case.  
  
Only Regis could not refuse. Not this time. Noctis was to be king; the Crystal was but a part of his inheritance. As such, it was necessary that he one day become familiar with it so that he would be an effective ruler. Perhaps Regis did not care for that day to come so very soon, but there was no denying that Noctis was as prepared as anyone could be for that trial.  
  
And Regis would be there every step of the way to ensure that nothing went awry. He knew how the Astrals viewed the world, just as he knew the enormous power they were capable of wielding. If Noctis did this, he would not be alone.  
  
So, swallowing both his doubts and his fears, Regis managed a weak smile as he murmured, “Your concerns sound well-founded.”  
  
“So...I can do it?” prodded Noctis nervously.

“You may,” Regis ground out with some difficulty. Rising to his feet (and requiring a bit more trust in his cane for support than before), he motioned towards the door with a brisk, “Our guests are occupied for the moment, and they will undoubtedly be cloistered in their own accommodations for the evening. Now is the best time—if, of course, you are ready.”

Apparently, Noctis had not expected to be accommodated so easily or immediately. The flash of surprise across his face was fleeting, however, and he hurried to his feet with a nod.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know about you, but I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be,” he joked in response.  
  
Something about Noctis’s momentary hesitation brought a pang of unease to Regis’s chest, although he said not a word as he led the way slowly from the room with his son following behind. He could tell from the look in his eyes that it was not a lack of determination with regards to the task he had set for himself that stayed his steps, and that was somewhat comforting. Noctis was trapped between the choice of offering his assistance and injuring his father’s pride or continuing to allow him to struggle through this endeavor on his own. That he had decided upon the former, regardless of what it meant for such trivial matters as personal dignity in the face of royal adversity, made Regis that much more certain that this was the correct course.

Whatever met them at the end.

It was not the first time Regis saw such an expression on his son’s face, nor did he believe that it would be the last. There would undoubtedly be many an occasion in the future where Noctis straightened his posture and offered him a small, brave nod as they stepped forward into the unknown together. Well, in a sense: Regis didn’t miss the way Noctis slowed his pace to match his own.

“How does this work exactly?” he inquired quietly, not a drop of anxiety coloring his tone. “I just talk to him?”

“Indeed,” replied Regis with a pensive frown. It was a simple matter to forget the days when communing with the gods was still new to him, and he recalled asking a similar question of his own father when he was barely more than a lad.  
  
The advice he had received was of little use at the time: _speak with respect and deference, but do not allow yourself to be crushed by the weight of divine disdain_. At first, he had not understood—it was the fate of the line of Lucis to work in conjunction with the gods, so it made no sense to him that they would look down on one born to serve them.  
  
Then he had experienced it, felt the sensations that accompanied conversing with a being at once grander and more terrible than anything Regis had ever or would ever encounter. There was no preparing for it, much as he had tried then.  
  
Much as he tried now.  
  
Regis waited until they were safely inside the elevator before he faced Noctis and somberly directed, “You must remember that the Six exist on a different plane from that which we inhabit. As attuned as they are to the suffering of mankind, it is separate from them in ways that we will never comprehend. They can sympathize with our plight, but they will never feel it themselves, and your appeals may well fall on deaf ears. Speak from the heart, as a representative of humanity as well as a king of Lucis. Strength in times of hardship is what the gods _do_ honor.”

Noctis swallowed hard and nodded. He was clearly doing his best to show resolve in the face of such a daunting task, which Regis found too admirable to devalue by giving it voice. A few nerves were perfectly normal, even if this entire situation was anything but.  
  
“Right, got it…” Noctis trailed off, leaving Regis to briefly stare at him in silence. His hesitant response did not inspire the confidence Regis had been hoping for, something his son must have sensed as he quickly amended his answer with a vague gesture. “Uh, how do I...you know, do I just knock? I mean, I know it’s got to do with the ring and all, but…”  
  
The look he offered Regis was sheepish and fleeting, paired with a pleading smile before Noctis glanced away again in embarrassment at his own confusion.

“It is a great deal simpler than that,” Regis chuckled in spite of himself. The mental image his guess conjured was admittedly entertaining.  
  
Rather than explain the mystery of the Crystal, he merely held his hand in front of the elevator panel so that his ring faced the buttons and tugged on that ever-present thread of power that lay at his fingertips. In a soft flash of blue light, the black square at the bottom of the controls lit up, and the lift began to ascend on its own. There were, of course, corridors outside the vault where guards were permitted access to fulfill their duties; only the Ring of the Lucii enabled him to access the Crystal directly, though. One day, when it passed to Noctis, he would share the same terrible privilege. For now, however, Regis was content to act in his interests. The time when his life would be stolen away by this bit of metal and stone was all too near as it was. Handing him the ring, even temporarily, would only begin that process early.  
  
Over his cold corpse would he allow that.  
  
So, they rode towards the Crystal in silence, Regis gripping his cane a bit tighter than usual to stave off the steadily increasing sense of dread that was clawing at his insides like a beast of the night. By the time the doors opened, depositing them in a private hall leading into the vault, the infernal clicking against the marble tiles seemed maddening.  
  
But he did not dare to show Noctis his worry, his fear, his weakness. His son clearly felt enough trepidation for the both of them without adding to his burden.  
  
With a deep breath, Regis waved his hand before the doors that awaited them and watched as they opened to reveal the pulsing blue and white light of the Crystal. It seemed to smile as they entered, that same horrifying grin that had greeted him when it was his own life he was binding to the Six.

That was not their goal today, thank heavens. If nothing else, that thought made it a bit easier for him to reach out his free hand and squeeze his son’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.  
  
“Come.”

Noctis took a hesitant step forward, drinking in the sight of the Crystal with wide and curious eyes. There had never been a need to bring him before the gods’ blessing in the past, and Regis had hoped to keep it that way for some time yet. However, he could admit that to be in its presence was awe-inspiring if you had not grown accustomed to it as he had.  
  
After a moment of unabashed gawping, Noctis tore his gaze away from the glittering gift of the Six and nodded. A look of sheer determination fixed itself upon his son’s face, and he struck a posture fitting of a man in his position. Whatever came of Noctis’s venture in the Astrals’ plane, Regis would never be able to say that he did not rise to the occasion with his head held high.  
  
Whatever plea Noctis wished to make for the safety of their home, he appeared more than ready.

As ill as it made him, as much as Regis wished to spirit his child away from this treacherous stone, he took a deep breath and did as he must. As all kings must.  
  
He sent his son into the lion’s den with naught but a smile and a prayer.  
  
Raising his hand and calling silently upon the power of the ring once more, Regis forced himself to maintain his stable, strong facade as the Crystal glowed bright in welcome not for him, but for much younger prey.  
  
“Step forward, Noctis,” he murmured quietly so that his son would not hear the subtle tremble in his voice.  
  
Meeting his gaze was not the boy he had not raised or the child he had not had the time for that he would have liked. A king stood in his place, tall and confident and so very powerful. It brought moisture to his own eyes to see it, though he blinked the tears aside as Noctis strode carefully towards the Crystal and vanished into the waxing light.  
  
A moment later, the brilliant luminescence faded to its ordinary glow, leaving Regis standing alone in the vault with his guilt.  
  
_May the gods forgive me._

 

***

 

Noctis wasn’t sure what he expected when he took the final step and entered the realm of the Six. The vast, empty space that somehow managed to be both endless and suffocating all at once was not one of the things he’d pictured in his mind when he went over his plans. He was only now starting to realize how ill-prepared he was for all of this. His father had trusted him enough to send him forth to pursue his quest for aid, though, and Noctis would be damned if he let the overwhelmingly immeasurable nothingness turn him back.

His first few steps were hesitant and shaky. With no paved path before him, Noctis was certain that each footfall would be his last and his utter lack of worth would send him plummeting into the bottomless light below.

But it didn’t. Somehow, he stayed suspended in the void. That had to be a good sign, right?

A few (more confident) lengths later, Noctis stopped and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Should he announce himself, or would that appear too impatient? Should he kneel? Should he stand here and wait for the gods to deem him worthy of acknowledgement?  
  
_What would Dad do?_  
  
Not lose his nerve, that was for sure.  
  
Noctis steeled himself, and when he spoke, he made an effort to be as clear and articulate as possible.

“I”—another deep breath, as he could feel the entire weight of the realm pressing down on his shoulders—“Noctis Lucis Caelum, request an audience with the almighty Draconian.”

For a few interminable seconds, nothing happened. The air was still, and the silence pushed against his eardrums until it felt deafening. Wisps of light made rainbows in the distance even though there was nothing to refract it, yet there were no gods anywhere. It was just him, floating in the abyss and calling out like an idiot.  
  
He had half a mind to turn back, to admit that the Six didn’t want to talk to him and find a way to break the news to his father that he was an even bigger failure than he’d thought, when it happened. Whatever invisible floor had kept him propped up this long finally fell away, and Noctis dropped with an involuntary cry.  
  
It wasn’t like falling in the real world, though. Time seemed to slow as he descended towards some nonexistent floor, and if it weren’t for the subtle and disorienting sensation of descent, he would have thought he was flying until his momentum came to a gradual halt mere moments later. As though maneuvered by invisible strings, he was lifted back to his feet and found himself standing in the palm of the biggest hand he had ever seen in his entire life.  
  
That wasn’t the strangest part, however—no, that went to the giant dragon the hand belonged to. Well, it looked more like dragon-shaped _armor_ , from what he could tell; its eyes were too human, if he could say that about a literal god. Whichever adjective he wanted to use, though, there was no escaping the piercing gaze that scrutinized his every move while he stood in silence, not sure what he was waiting for.  
  
Was... _he_ supposed to start or something?  
  
Apparently not. There was a rumbling sound like the grinding of stones, and it took a second for Noctis to realize that the Astral was _speaking_ to him.  
  
“Long has the light of Providence prophesied the coming of the future king,” the Draconian announced by way of greeting. “But the time has not yet come for the prince to ascend the throne and commune with the Six.”

At least someone was on his side with that one. The way things had gone these last few days, most people talked as if Noctis’s ascension was around the corner. Watching how his father had mustered what little strength he had left to get them to the vault, however, Noctis could kind of see where that mentality came from.  
  
It was a large part of why he was here now, trying not to tremble in fear as he stood in the palm of this expressionless god.  
  
Noctis swallowed uneasily, uncertain of whether the Draconian was offended that he had arrived in his father’s stead or merely pointing out the fact that Noctis was not yet king as if he was too stupid to realize that for himself. Honestly, he had no clue which would be better. Both didn’t exactly make him look as competent as he was going for here. Either way, he knew it was foolish to keep the god waiting for an answer any longer than he already had. So, Noctis steadied himself on his feet, speaking in a tone as sincere as he could muster and choosing his words carefully in the manner that Ignis had drilled into his brain time and time again.  
  
“I come on behalf of my father, he who is bound to the Crystal, to…to make a request for your aid.” Noctis faltered a bit on his words, but he was careful not to look away like Ignis pointed out he often did. This was far too important to lose points on tiny formalities.

The only problem was that it was impossible to read the Draconian’s thoughts on his face—or, in this case, through his helmet. Besides the same inscrutable gleam in his eyes as he watched, Bahamut offered no other nonverbal cues to help Noctis out. He didn’t even _blink_ , which was just plain eerie.  
  
“With the king has the might of the divine ever resided,” the Draconian answered in that slow, grating way he had.  
  
Noctis opened his mouth, prepared to clarify what he was asking, but Bahamut cut him off before he had the chance.  
  
“The prayers of the king have already reached the Six, O prince. The fate of the world falls to the kings of man. So it is and ever has been ordained.”

Noctis wasn’t aware that anyone could out-Ignis _Ignis_ when it came to being absolutely baffling in meaning, but the Draconian seemed intent on doing just that. At least when Ignis was being a wordy know-it-all, he was speaking _to_ Noctis; it felt like the Draconian was talking _at_ him, his voice reverberating around the empty space. Worse than anything else was the fact that it sounded as though he had just been told, _yeah, I’m listening, but sounds like a personal problem_.

 _Wonderful_.  
  
There was silence as the Draconian awaited Noctis’s response, and he tried his best not to squirm under the passive gaze of the Astral. It wasn’t easy, nor was it simple to come up with the words he was digging around his head for.  
  
Straight to the point seemed the best route, then. “ _I_ came to ask for your aid. My father has fought long and hard to safeguard this, uh, Crystal and this world from those who mean them harm. If these talks of peace are bu— _false_ , then we’re going to need a lot more help.”  
  
Noctis managed to stop himself before he swore. If Ignis found it _unbecoming_ , he couldn’t imagine what the Draconian would think.  
  
His father had told him to speak from the heart, but Noctis was still worried he lacked the finesse for that. Ignis was the one who had a way with words, not him. In hindsight, Noctis only wished he had given himself time to prepare what he was going to say; he had been so wrapped up in convincing his dad to let him do this that he hadn’t thought further ahead than that.  
  
He was here now, though, swallowing around the lump that lodged itself in this throat. He couldn’t go back empty-handed. Their enemies were inside the Wall _now_. They needed a plan B.

Bahamut’s silence, however, was pretty indicative of what he was going to say. Noctis couldn’t tell whether he was thinking his request over or just thinking over how he was going to let down the guy who was supposed to die for him and his Crystal someday. It wasn’t something Noctis had a choice in, so he didn’t really need to spare his feelings if that was what he was doing. Still, he could come up with one way the Draconian could avoid pissing him off altogether, not that he seemed willing to take that road.  
  
Just when he thought that _nothing_ was his answer, Bahamut took a deep breath that shook Noctis down to his boots.  
  
“The throne of Lucis is replete with the light of Providence. To use its power comes at the cost of a life, for the bodies of mortal men cannot long withstand the divine rites of the Crystal.”  
  
_Translation: it’s already eating my dad alive, and that’s just the Crystal._  
  
If he was understanding what the Draconian appeared to be saying between the lines of his old-world textbook speech, though, then there might be another way. The _Crystal’s_ power had been given to the kings and tied to the throne of Lucis, blah blah blah...  
  
But what about the _Astrals’_ power?

Would that be rude to ask? His father’s current sacrifice safeguarded the Crystal and afforded the Astrals their...whatever this was, didn’t it? It wouldn’t be out of line to ask them to pitch in to keep out a cockroach infestation.  
  
Despite that, Bahamut’s mere presence was overwhelming, so much so that Noctis could hardly breathe. His mouth opened slightly only to close again without a word. The Draconian was nothing if not patient, though, and it felt like hours passed before Noctis finally spoke again.

“And _your_ power? Are you unable to lend that to us...just this once?” he added after a short pause. The Six didn’t need to think that they were as power-hungry as the Niffs.  
  
Niflheim, of course, would probably harness the Crystal as a weapon the first chance they had. If they got their hands on it, that was.  
  
_If. Only if._  
  
Noctis just needed to make sure that never happened.

Which was why he bit back a sigh of frustration when Bahamut replied, “The light of the Star, waxing full, has claimed the life of the king. He abides in hope that his sacrifice is not in vain, yet the mettle of his soul is subverted by the passage of time and the burden he hitherto has borne.”

Noctis tried not to huff in annoyance. He failed, but boy, did he ever try. After all, it was an awfully fancy way of saying _we’ve already pretty much ground your dad into dust, kid, we can’t go dropping rocks on him on top of that_.  
  
The sentiment might actually have been endearing if Noctis didn’t want to shout that it was their fault his father’s soul was subverted or whatever snotty, superior word the Draconian used for it.  
  
Noctis wouldn’t have wanted to add to his father’s burden anyway. He had come here in the hopes of relieving his pain, not adding to it--but it looked like he would be returning with nothing to show for his efforts. The disappointment he could already picture on his father’s face was enough to nearly crush Noctis entirely.  
  
_Unless...  
_  
“What about me?”  
  
He blurted out the words so suddenly that Noctis wasn’t even sure he had said them aloud for a moment.

The Draconian must have felt the same, because he didn’t respond right away this time. Instead, his eyes narrowed in vicious scrutiny that made Noctis shuffle back a step in spite of himself. That was fine, though: his offer and request were both out in the open. Maybe Bahamut thought he was some immature kid who didn’t know what he was getting into, and...well, he wouldn’t be completely wrong there. Noctis had no clue how any of this would end, but he had to do something. His father couldn’t _abide in hope_ or something on his own—he needed someone to share the load.  
  
Who better than someone whose days would be numbered as soon as he ascended anyway?  
  
That was his idea, at least. Bahamut, as it turned out, wasn’t quite on the same page.  
  
“It is the fate of the kings of Lucis to safeguard the Crystal,” he reminded Noctis, and he felt like he’d been reprimanded even though the Astral’s tone didn’t shift. “The power of the Star inherent in the Six is yet more resplendent than the light borne by the king. To be wielded by mortal man would cost the life of the chosen vessel.”

Noctis drew in a breath through clenched teeth. That always seemed to be the case. Why the Astral could not just step out of the Crystal and see to their safety himself was beyond Noctis, though. Clearly, given the sprawling interior he was lounging around in, Bahamut couldn’t be busy.  
  
It was as his father had said: the Draconian understood their plight but remained unmoved by it. They really were nothing more than an elaborate bowl of goldfish to them.

If this was truly the answer Noctis sought, then it looked like it was going to cost him.  
  
“This would work, though?” Noctis asked cautiously, hoping he wasn’t stepping into offensive territory. He already got the feeling Bahamut was annoyed with him. “My dad—uh, the king… He’ll be okay?”

Well, if he _was_ annoying him, Bahamut at least didn’t mention it. (Would a god do that? Just point at him and say he was getting on his nerves? Didn’t seem likely.) His gaze turned calculating, though, as if he was sizing up the true measure of just how much Noctis wanted this.  
  
Apparently, he gazed past the unease and the little bit of fear he’d _never_ tell anyone about—it was like being pierced, the way he seemed to stare straight into his soul and find that yeah, Noctis desperately wanted this. _Needed_ this. For his father, for his friends, for his kingdom...  
  
This _had_ to work.  
  
Noctis held his breath when the Draconian finally answered in an almost hesitant drawl, “That which has been wrought upon the king will remain, and the light of Providence consecrated in the Crystal will, unceasing, serve he who bears the Ring. Yet the burden upon the throne will be diminished by the sacrifice of the prince, for unto the abdicator would be granted the replete might of the Six.”

A simple _yes_ would have worked just as well. That was all Noctis needed to make this deal.

It was simply an insurance policy of sorts. If—no, _when_ —the Niffs tried to pull something, he’d be ready to drag the entire rotten empire under. He’d be _able_ to do that.

What did it matter if it cost him his own life? That was where he’d end up anyway: if the Niffs didn’t take over and kill him for being a prince of Lucis, then the Crystal slowly would. Years from now, his father would be gone and his friends would all be forced to watch him waste away as he tried to hold together what little of his kingdom he had left.  
  
This was the right choice. This was the _only_ choice. His life for everyone else’s—in the end, it was more than worth it.  
  
Pushing aside the small seeds of fear and doubt that planted themselves in the pit of his stomach, Noctis raised his gaze to meet that of the Draconian.

“I would accept that burden.”

When they were still kids, Ignis had taught him about what it meant to make a _gentleman’s agreement_. According to him, a king’s word was as good as gold, and you had to follow through at all times so that the people never had reason not to trust what you said. Ordinary people, though, didn’t have the power to do that; they couldn’t demand that others listen to them either. The trust was still important—the bond of honor and faith was still necessary. If gentlemen shook on it, back in the day when contracts weren’t a thing, then their word was binding. Deals had been made, money had changed hands, nations had risen, and empires had fallen all by the sound of a word and the shake of a hand.  
  
But gods weren’t gentlemen.  
  
“The covenant has been forged,” he rumbled, his hand suddenly vanishing from beneath Noctis’s feet. “Gather strength, O prince, that the Light of Providence shine within.”  
  
Crying out in surprise, Noctis involuntarily scrabbled for any purchase, but there was nothing to stop him from falling into the abyss as the world faded to brilliant white.

  
***

  
Regis had not paced a room with such anxious, haunted steps since the day he had awaited the cries of a baby from his wife’s maternity bed. Of course, his leg had not pained him then, and his back had not ached with the need to take some rest. As a young man, he had been able to wait hours for his son—he would have waited forever.  
  
Now, he was old and diminished, yet he would endure any trial if it meant seeing his child safe at the end of it. Much of the time, the irony of his own heart struck him: for how long would Noctis be safe when his end would one day arrive in the same manner as Regis’s? Already he was sending him to the Crystal, a premature and likely foolish act that he was still uneasy about. He could not bring himself to regret it, not when Noctis needed to learn to walk the path of a monarch on his own, yet his concern was as unwavering as his determination.

As such, when the light of the Crystal once again waxed full in the center of the vault, Regis ceased his apprehensive strides and straightened to his full height. His son would not see him like this, like a weak old man and not a strong king. Not after what he had just undertaken.

Noctis took a few stumbling steps forward as if he tripped over an invisible cord. Throwing a small, irritated glare over his shoulder, he muttered something about just _having_ to have the last word before he righted himself and looked to Regis with a sad smile.  
  
“That, uh...was not exactly what I expected,” Noctis murmured, focusing hard on a point just past Regis’s right shoulder. He wished to convince himself that it was merely the fading light from the Crystal, but Noctis appeared a bit paler than he had when he’d entered.

“Yes,” mused Regis as he moved closer to survey him more carefully, “it can be rather more overwhelming than anticipated your first time.”  
  
And it certainly seemed that was the case here. Regis had not expected Noctis’s first communion would be so taxing, yet the more he watched, the more he was able to see the exhaustion clinging to him as though it had found a home. As the Crystal dimmed to its ordinary glow, he noticed that his son was indeed paler than normal, his eyes tight at the corners as he fought to look anywhere but at Regis. Where he had walked tall into Bahamut’s den, his shoulders were now slumped with weariness.  
  
Reaching out a hand to grasp his arm as firmly as he could, Regis stared briefly before inquiring, “What result did your audience with the Draconian yield?”

He did not fail to register the way his son braced himself, albeit briefly, against his touch before pulling away. A flash of shame and disappointment flitted across Noctis’s face, and the slight downward turn of his lips was all Regis needed to know that the endeavor wasn’t as fruitful as his son had hoped.  
  
“You were right,” he murmured, lowering his eyes to the floor again as he attempted to make his dissatisfaction less apparent. “We’re on our own with this one.”

Noctis’s shoulders sagged even further, although Regis wasn’t certain if it was from exhaustion or the frustration of his perceived failure.

Whichever it was, one fact remained clear: he needed to rest. The stress of meeting one of the Six, especially the Draconian, was by no means insignificant. Their first conversation had left Regis more drained than he had ever felt in his life, although the sensation admittedly paled in comparison to what he now knew would follow after. Noctis was not accustomed to such trials, and Regis was not willing to push him any further. He had already done so much since the arrival of the envoys.  
  
So, he did not inquire into the content of their conversation, making a mental note to discuss it with him at a later time. The Draconian’s unwillingness to assist them was no surprise: his duty was to the world at large, not merely one kingdom. It fell to them, then, to stem the flow of the empire’s injustice.  
  
Fell to _him_ , that was, for he was not willing to subject his son to more. Not now.  
  
“You should take some rest,” Regis recommended sternly, reaching for Noctis’s shoulder before thinking better of it. The manner in which Noctis had pulled away before was indication enough that it would not be welcome, yet his aborted gesture left him reeling to find the right words. After a pregnant pause, he settled on, “You assumed a great burden in coming here. Tomorrow, I want you to avoid the negotiations and take the day to recover.”  
  
_You will need it._

For a moment, Noctis stared at the ground with his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and reluctance. When he finally met Regis’s gaze, he hesitantly replied, “I don’t _have_ to skip tomorrow. Wouldn’t the emperor be suspicious if I’m not there?”

“As you said yourself, he will be less concerned with your absence than mine,” Regis waved him off dismissively.  
  
Seeing that his reassurances did little to ease Noctis’s mind, Regis sighed heavily and turned to directly face him. It was not often that he pulled rank, whether as king or father, but it appeared that now was as good a time as any.  
  
“You will remain in your chambers tomorrow,” he ordered gently, gingerly resting his hand on Noctis’s shoulder in spite of his prior aversion. “Or you may venture into the city, if that is your wish. Gladiolus will attend you. When the proceedings adjourn, I will send Ignis to provide you with the details.”

That did the trick. Noctis obviously realized that, like it or not, he would be barred from the proceedings tomorrow without Regis mentioning that he would go so far as to place guards on his door if it was necessary. Rather than argue further, he met Regis’s unyielding expression with a small smile and nodded.  
  
“Okay. I guess I’ll leave you guys to it, then. As long as Ignis _does_ give me all the details after, anyway,” Noctis stipulated, taking a step back to momentarily glance up at the Crystal. Once his gaze returned to Regis, the corners of his mouth quirked into a frown. “I’ll...see you later, right?”

“You will indeed,” promised Regis, moving his hand from Noctis’s shoulder to his back and giving him a light push towards the door. It was something he couldn’t recall doing since Noctis was a child, shy as he had been when meeting new people, and the incongruity of the gesture brought a smile to his face.  
  
Noctis, too, must have recognized the parallel. A small, embarrassed smirk pulled at his lips as he humored his old father and trudged towards the exit.  
  
The sight of him framed in the doorway, the light at his back and his face pointing towards the dim corridor outside, made the grin melt from Regis’s face. What his son had spoken of with the Draconian was not something to be taken lightly, nor was the heavy weight it clearly placed on his mind. Regis merely hoped that a night of uninterrupted sleep followed by a few hours of peace would be enough to lessen the load.  
  
_Would that we were all so fortunate_ , he reflected somberly, casting a final glimpse over his shoulder at the Crystal before following Noctis from the vault.

 

***

 

It was over. It was finally, _finally_ over.  
  
Prompto wandered aimlessly through the gardens (because he was _allowed_ to, if anyone asked), decompressing after the last day of the nightmare these diplomats were calling negotiations. What with all the trouble they’d caused this week, arguing and bickering and laying them on the table to _measure_ , he honestly thought he was going out of his mind when today went almost as smoothly as the body soap he was still inconspicuously sniffing on his arm every chance he got. The emperor didn’t try to step on King Regis anymore, and the latter hadn’t needed to stick a finger in his eye in retaliation. They’d just...gathered and gone over the terms and signed. Easy peasy.  
  
There had to be a catch.

If anything, he would have expected Aldercapt to double down on his demands, considering the fact that it hadn’t been hard to see how out of sorts the king had been all day. Prompto didn’t want to say it was because of the prince’s mysterious absence, but... Well, the guy never had that problem when Noctis was around. During the other fun-fests, he’d been a pinnacle of strength, meeting every one of the emperor’s thrusts with a well timed parry. Today, though, he was actually pretty quiet. Sure, he spoke up when he needed to and didn’t let Aldercapt get away with shit if he could help it, but he was otherwise reserved the whole time. There were no slight smiles of affection or twinkling gazes of pride. There was just a really tired monarch.  
  
The emperor should have pressed his advantage. Prompto didn’t see any reason why he hadn’t. When they adjourned for the day, however, they’d been surprisingly _civil_ , even ending the proceedings with a handshake and some rigidly amicable formalities. In a way, it was actually kinda sickening.  
  
That wasn’t what brought Prompto outside, though. He had a strong stomach—he had to if he was going to choke down the nutrient bars that were starting to sound even more disgusting with every meal he ate in Lucis. No, the problem was _him_ : when he’d caught sight of the grossly political display, his first instinct had been to lean over and make a sarcastic remark about it.  
  
To the prince.  
  
Who wasn’t there.  
  
Who Prompto was _sad_ wasn’t there.  
  
_Not sad_ , he reminded himself with a firm shake of his head. That wasn’t what it was—it couldn’t be. He was just getting used to hanging around Noctis and not being reprimanded for saying whatever he wanted. That was all it was. Yup. Completely normal.

What _wasn’t_ normal was the man that appeared at the far end of the path, who seemed to want nothing more than to stare at him. The guards usually stayed outside of the enclosure, keeping watch over anybody who came and went. Prompto hadn’t thought much of it; he sort of assumed that what people did inside the gardens was their business.  
  
Which would make it awfully easy for someone to slip in and murder him.  
  
_Faaaaan-freaking-tastic._  
  
This particular brand of hulking muscles wasn’t giving him the same kind of _I Wanna Beat You With Your Own Spleen_ look Gladiolus always seemed to wear around him, at least. No, this guy seemed almost amused.  
  
That just made him creepier.  
  
Taking their meeting gazes as an invitation to approach, the man casually strode towards him. Oh, yeah--definitely a creeper. Prompto gritted his teeth and planted his feet anyway, rooted in his position. Any attempt to flee now would just make _him_ the weird and vaguely suspicious one.  
  
Honestly, where was the murder cat when he needed it?  
  
It remained absent as the man stopped in front of him, taking a moment to size him up before he announced, “I suspected I’d find you here. How about we have a little chat? One captain to another.”

Ooh, was that snarky? That was totally snarky.  
  
_Looks like not everyone believed that. Whoops._  
  
Hey, he could believe or not believe what he wanted. Nobody was going to call Prompto a liar here, not when they’d be expected to discipline him for his exaggeration and ruin the whole mission. ...Well, Loqi probably _really_ wanted to, but the logistics just weren’t on his side. Anyway, the point was that he didn’t need to let this guy know that there was apparently only one captain standing here.  
  
So, Prompto straightened to his full height in what he hoped was an accurate imitation of Gladiolus’s best _Don’t Mess With Me_ stance and threw a few cups of authority into his tone when he firmly replied, “What did you want to talk to me about, Captain?”

Captain _Whoever-The-Hell-This-Was_ didn’t seem as intimidated as Prompto would have liked. Instead, he tilted his head, surveying him in the same manner a hawk might eye a cornered mouse.  
  
Not all that comforting, but not enough to make Prompto relent in his own resolve.  
  
“Your commander tells me they’ll be leaving soon while you remain as our _guest_.”

There was a knowing twinkle in the captain’s eye that shifted the atmosphere just slightly, a sense of unease in the air that hadn’t been there when they first crossed paths. Or maybe that was Prompto’s imagination playing tricks on him.

“You should count yourself lucky that His Majesty has tasked me with making sure you’re kept under watch,” he continued, pausing a moment before a grin stretched across his face, “seeing as I’ve been asked to do the same by the emperor in his absence.”

 _What_.  
  
Was there supposed to be something for him to figure out here? Because right now, Prompto wasn’t sure if the captain was saying what he _thought_ he was or if this was some clever ruse to get information out of him that he _really_ didn’t need to be giving away.  
  
If _that_ was the game, though, it would have been better if the king sent Ignis or Gladiolus. After all, it was the former who had visited him last night to say that Prince Noctis wouldn’t be attending today; they’d spent an entire dinner together before that, too. If he was going to let his guard down even a little (well, if the Lucians thought he would anyway), it wouldn’t be around this random captain grinning down at him like he was a four-course meal.  
  
So, that probably meant it wasn’t his imagination after all.  
  
Still, just to be safe, he wasn’t giving anything away. It didn’t matter what it sounded like—if the captain was trying to say something, then he’d have to come right out and do it. Prompto wasn’t biting.  
  
“O-Oh yeah?”

_Smooth._

If this prying weirdo thought Prompto lacked finesse, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was too busy giving off dangerous vibes to bother. He did frown, though, staring until he apparently realized that Prompto was not privy to whatever strange code he was talking in.

“My apologies.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Captain Drautos of the Kingsglaive...and the guy who’s going to make sure you receive what you need to finish off the crown prince while the cat’s away.”

_...Wait. Seriously. What?!_

It was official: a brain _could_ short circuit. There was no other explanation for the utter lack of _anything_ going on in Prompto’s at that moment. Well, okay, maybe there was something—namely a whole lot of expletives and a little bit of vomit. No, wait, that was his stomach. Never mind.  
  
All that Gladiolus-inspired hubris melted, leaving Prompto feeling more than a little inadequate next to this hulking mass of...  
  
_Spy_.

No way. Nuh uh. The king would have to know. The captain was at the head of his guard—he couldn’t be their spy. He _couldn’t_.  
  
“W-What are you talking about?” Prompto whispered, more because he couldn’t manage anything louder than any need for caution. He wanted to convince himself that this was a trap, that the Glaive captain was testing him, but Prompto was starting to doubt it at the same time. There had been something off about this guy ever since they’d arrived. He’d been chalking it up to disgust at hosting a bunch of Niffs, but now the clouds were parting to show something very different on the horizon.

Captain—alleged _spy_ Captain—Drautos huffed a sigh in response.

“I can see where the commander’s annoyance at your appointment comes from,” he snorted, daring a quick glance over his shoulder towards the door before turning back to Prompto. “Did you imagine you’d be procuring a weapon yourself, or was your plan to strangle the prince with your bare hands?”

 _Oh shit._  
  
“W-Wait,” stammered Prompto as he struggled to keep his volume in check, “so y-you’re the contact? But you’re the captain of the _Kingsglaive_!”

“Which means I control which Glaive is assigned to watch you while you’re here.” Drautos’s tone turned patronizing, and he seemed to be waiting for Prompto to get to the point he thought he was already making.

That was apparently going to take a second, though, because _what the hell_?!  
  
“Uh, call me crazy, but...aren’t you supposed to be, like... _loyal_?”  
  
At least, that was what he would have expected from someone with his position. In the empire, if one of them decided to turn traitor... Prompto shuddered to think of the consequences.

“My _loyalties_ are not to the Crown City and also none of your business,” he responded coldly. “Am I to be questioning yours as well?”

_Ooh. Easy there, tough guy._

Oh, yeah. This guy was definitely one of them. Maybe he was from Lucis, but his demeanor was all Niflheim.  
  
Of all the things that had become ingrained in him over the years, listening to his superiors was the one that gripped him the tightest in that instant. Loqi was different: Prompto knew where the line was there. This guy, on the other hand, was an unknown entity. He held the success or failure of Prompto’s mission in his hands—as well as his own fate on top of it. If Prompto was going to make an enemy in Lucis, it wasn’t going to be Drautos.  
  
Besides, he knew who the enemy was. It was the people Drautos was betraying, whatever his reasons. It was the person who stole the credit from Ignis and annoyed the hell out of Gladiolus because he _could_. It was the guy who pretended to be nice and selfless when he’d just turn around and become like all the other royals as soon as the envoys left.  
  
It was the prince, who wouldn’t get out of this without a bullet between the eyes.  
  
So, swallowing the pride he’d let himself get carried away with and whatever residual confusion he’d been feeling, Prompto shook his head with his eyes downcast.  
  
“No, sir.”

“I’m glad we have an understanding.” Drautos paused a moment, and Prompto figured he was waiting to see if a smart-ass remark would follow. When he wisely kept his mouth shut, the captain continued, “It will take a few days to obtain a proper weapon. As you know, the arms used in Lucis aren’t what you’d be accustomed to. You, in the meantime, will get closer to your target to create an opening. I will make sure you are able to do so with minimal hinderance.”

“Yes, sir,” muttered Prompto with a nod.  
  
It sounded pretty painless, even if he knew it wasn’t going to stay that way. The king’s performance over the last few days every time the prince was in the vicinity was enough to tell him that it wouldn’t end well for him, Loqi’s supposed escape plan notwithstanding.  
  
Drautos wasn’t here to reassure him, though. He was here for a status report.  
  
Taking solace in that familiarity, Prompto offered, “So far, my target isn’t the wiser. Should be pretty easy to get him alone.”

“Then I will leave you to it.” Drautos nodded, although his tone didn’t exactly speak of overwhelming confidence. “From this point forward, I will keep contact with you to a minimum. Starting tomorrow, you’re on your own.”

Murmuring his understanding, Prompto watched as Drautos turned on his heel and strode out of the garden as though he owned the place. Which...hey, he worked for the king that did, so it was the same thing really.  
  
Prompto shook his head with a low groan. Of all the things he had to worry about right now, that really wasn’t the biggest problem on his plate. No, that went to the lie he’d just told to make his superior happy—he’d done it before, and he’d probably do it again before he was executed for murder. What else was he going to do, though? Tell Drautos that he wasn’t bound to get away with shit while Gladiolus’s eagle eyes were on him? As if he’d do anything but order him to figure it out.  
  
And Prompto would. It might just take some...maneuvering.  
  
Under the watchful gaze of the captain of the Kingsglaive.  
  
_Well. This is gonna be something else._


	9. A Shield's Dilemma

Most nights in the Amicitia household, Iris could easily predict that either her brother or her father wouldn’t be home. It wasn’t very often that both of them were here at the same time, to be honest: if Gladdy wasn’t hanging out with Noct, then their father was attending the king. There were even occasions when neither of them would come home, not that she minded that so much anymore. Luckily, Iris was more than capable of taking care of things herself, and the solitude was a common enough occurrence that she was never bothered by it. After all, that was the price you paid for the honor of serving the royal family. Nobody in their right mind would exchange that for a few home-cooked meals.

Tonight, however, was one of the few where her father and brother were actually home in time for dinner. She had to admit, that was kind of surprising: with the imperials at the Citadel, she wouldn’t have thought either of them would be willing to leave their respective charges so readily. If Gladdy’s face throughout dinner was anything to go by, then she was pretty sure it hadn’t exactly been his first choice. Still, they were here! That was something, anyway! The king and Noct were probably just absorbed in their own business and didn’t have space for two Shields in the same room the way they did here at home. They weren’t the type to make their bodyguards stand outside the door all evening, so she figured they decided a night off was definitely overdue.

Which meant that as soon as they were done eating, Gladdy wanted to talk about work.

Iris hated when that happened. Her dad always sent her upstairs, no doubt because Gladdy was going to trash Noct and he just _knew_ she would kick him in his big, stupid shins in defense of their future king if she heard it.

Things weren’t any different tonight, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her from at least listening to what they were saying--she never did. The top of the stairs was just close enough for her to overhear without starting any trouble. After all, Gladdy didn’t know what indoor voices were.

“I dunno what the hell he’s thinking,” she heard her brother sigh from below.

_Totally called it._

From the tiny sliver of the living room she could spy through the newel posts, Iris watched him collapse onto the couch. His face was hidden, but she knew he had to be wearing his typical _Can You Believe What That Idiot Did This Time_ expression. She’d gotten used to it over the years, so it wasn’t hard to spot.

With a huff of irritation, Gladdy continued, “This Niff kid doesn’t seem like much of a threat, but still. Noct needs to keep his guard up.”

Iris rolled her eyes. It was always about fighting or defending somebody with him--there was no in-between. Sometimes, the way Gladdy talked, you’d think everyone was clamoring to hurt Noct. Of course, that was just plain ridiculous: their prince was _great._ Anybody who spent five minutes with Noct ended up absolutely adoring him.

Except maybe her brother, but he came around eventually. Sort of.

Their dad almost always took Noct’s side when her brother got like this, which was why Iris held her breath in anticipation rather than storming down there to give Gladdy a piece of her mind. It was always better to hear it coming from him. Unlike her, Gladdy took _his_ advice seriously.

“And what exactly has he planned that bothers you so much?” their father asked, seating himself in an armchair across from him that Iris could see just a little better from here.

Snorting derisively, Gladdy folded his arms over his chest and muttered, “He wants to take the guy into the city and get him a whole new wardrobe—using his own damn money.”

It was a struggle not to giggle at the way he said that, his voice somewhere between disbelieving and exasperated. Iris figured that made sense: of all the things to be upset over, clothes shopping was a pretty petty reason.

A little _too_ petty for Gladdy, come to think of it. There had to be more to it than that.

Their dad must have thought the same thing, because Iris could practically hear the raised eyebrows that went along with his tone when he inquired, “Is that all?”

_Ooh. Busted._

From the sound of it, Iris knew what that meant: for Gladdy’s sake, that had better _not_ be all.

Whether it was or not, her brother didn’t answer immediately, his gaze trained on his hands where they were fisted atop his knees. Silence reigned between them until, with a sigh of his own, her father decided to break it.

“Gladiolus, you should know that if the prince wishes to use his own money to purchase this captain a pair of socks or a chocobo that lays golden eggs, it is hardly your business to dictate otherwise so long as he is safe.”

“Yeah, I got that,” grumbled Gladdy, leaning forward so that his arms were propped on his legs and his head was bowed in front of him. His face disappeared behind the wall, and Iris tried to lean forward to see his expression with no success. See, _this_ was why it would have been so much easier if they just let her stick around!

Whatever their dad saw must have been pretty serious, though. He didn’t reprimand Gladdy any further for his attack on Noct’s decision, nor did he wheedle him for more details. Instead, the two of them merely sat there for so long that she wondered if they were ever going to say anything. It wasn’t until she had begun contemplating whether she should give up that Gladdy figured his thoughts out. To her surprise, Iris actually had to struggle a little to hear him.

Since when did _he_ learn to speak quietly?

“It ain’t about the clothes, not really. Hell, it even makes my job easier,” he admitted, a bitter laugh escaping him as though he’d made a joke only he understood. “I get that the king wants information, but getting it ain’t worth lettin’ this kid get too close. Noct’s...”

Gladdy trailed off, and Iris frowned in irritation. He was what—stupid? Not thinking? Something else? It must have erred a bit too close to _emotional_ stuff; that was the only reason her brother would steer clear of just coming out and saying it. That or he didn’t feel like being berated. One or the other.

Fortunately, Dad seemed to understand enough that he didn’t force Gladdy to put it into words himself. He simply leaned forward in his seat and inclined his head.

“ _Capable_ ,” he finished his sentence for him. Iris doubted it was the word Gladdy had been searching for, but he made no move to interrupt or argue to the contrary. “As are you. The prince is not so foolhardy that he would take on this endeavor if he thought neither he nor you would be able to handle it, which I’m sure you can.”

There was another pregnant pause, and all Iris could hear was her own breathing until he asked again, “Is there something more?”

So, he’d heard it too, then: whatever it was Gladdy didn’t want to say. It looked like Dad wasn’t going to give him much choice, though, not if he wanted some actual advice.

Gladdy didn’t answer at first, and from where Iris was sitting, all she could see was his shoulder where he was rocking back and forth a bit in thought. When he finally straightened, it was pretty easy to tell that he wasn’t looking at their dad. Oh, yeah. He was upset--she didn’t need to be his sister to know.

“Something’s not right about this Niff,” he insisted, his tone steadfast even though he was staring at his hands as if he was a kid again. “Iggy ‘n’ I’ve been tryin’ to work it out, but we just keep coming up empty. Can’t decide whether he’s aiming to confuse us or if things in the empire really _are_ as bad as they sound. Either way, I don’t like it.”

A few seconds passed where Iris thought for sure he was done, then he let out a heavy sigh and added in a low murmur, “Noct’s been playin’ right into it. And yeah, I know he’s capable, but what happens if he gets in over his head?”

At first, Iris heard no response from their dad, and she worried that perhaps he didn’t have an answer for Gladdy this time. It was either that or he was going to make him figure this one out on his own, which seemed totally unfair if they asked her. Sure, her brother took his job way too seriously some days; he’d let it bother him a lot more when they were younger, but even his mellower attitude now didn’t really put much of a dent in it. A problem like this, though? When he hadn’t truly been tested as a Shield yet? If it were her, Iris would have been petrified. There was no way their dad could leave him in the dark...was there?

Apparently not. Just when she was starting to think that that was exactly his plan, she watched as their dad shifted positions, moving closer to Gladdy. When he spoke, his voice was more serious than before.

“I understand that this is not a matter to be taken lightly. The king himself worries about the intentions of this young man and his proximity to the prince. Do you have reason to believe that the captain means to do him harm?”

Iris scooted even further forward to hear better given that Gladdy appeared to have suddenly acquired a taste for hushed tones when they were least convenient. The posts along the stairs were the only things keeping her from toppling back down to the story below, but it would be worth it for this, especially when they were making history here.

For the first time ever, Gladdy hesitated—Gladdy _never_ hesitated. Sometimes, she thought maybe he should so that he didn’t let a bunch of garbage escape his mouth that he would think better of later. That didn’t happen, though, and she’d been a party to more than one of his gruff half-apologies when he stepped a little too far. This reticence, on the other hand, was entirely unprecedented. That more than anything else turned Iris’s stomach as she sat there. If he was acting like this, then that soldier had to be pretty bad news.

Taking a deep breath, Gladdy eventually composed himself enough to murmur, “I dunno. Doesn’t seem like the kid’s got two brain cells to rub together half the time, then the rest, it’s like he _wants_ us to think that.”

“You think he’s lying, then?” their dad inquired evenly. Apparently, he wasn’t nearly as rattled as Iris was by Gladdy’s reluctance, which made sense—he was the _Shield to the king_ , of course. He was all kinds of amazing and had the answers for everything.

When Gladdy didn’t, he continued, “Gladiolus, I recognize that this is your first real trial as the Shield to the future king. While I regret that your abilities could not have been tested under different circumstances, you must nevertheless trust your instincts. You may not be able to control the prince’s actions, nor would anyone ever ask you to, but it is your duty to be there should he misstep.”

Iris wasn’t sure she completely understood what he was getting at--no one who wasn’t a Shield could--but she nodded along anyway. Instincts only went so far, after all, before they could lead you astray. She knew that better than anyone. Still, she supposed he had a point, and the stern yet comforting manner in which he spoke was enough to fill her with reassurance for now.

Her hopes that her brother would find the same resolve were shattered when he merely grumbled, “I know.”

“Public appearances in as casual an atmosphere as the prince is recommending could work to your advantage,” their father observed. “You have doubts of his sincerity, do you not?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Get ‘im out in the open with no envoys around and see where it goes. Ignis said the same thing,” sighed Gladdy, although Iris could hear the smile there. It disappeared a second later when he tentatively inquired, “But what happens if he’s exactly what the king’s worried about? What if...”

His voice faded away to nothing, but Iris thought she knew what he was going to say. Her big brother had come a long way from the total ass who’d once hoped Noct would never be king, so there were some cases when his thoughts were actually sort of predictable.

_What if I can’t protect him?_

Their father stiffened, straightening in his seat as he examined Gladdy with a look that made her involuntarily shudder. She wouldn’t say she was worried that her brother was about to get in trouble, yet it wasn’t often that their dad wore that _look_ anymore. Admittedly, he had every reason to: not being able to protect Noct would be a big deal. Their family had been guarding the royal line for generations without failure, not even one.

If that was what had Gladdy so concerned, then this was definitely a problem. A big problem.

“If you feel you need assistance, Gladiolus, it can be arranged.” His words said one thing, but it sounded like he wasn’t too eager for Gladdy to take that route. “Is there something about him that causes you to doubt your own success?”

Well, that one was _not_ going to go over with Gladdy at _all_. It wasn’t like he was stupid, even if her little sister genes yelled the opposite. He knew when to ask for help and when he could handle things on his own. Some Niff soldier that he couldn’t even decide was a threat or not? He wasn’t about to bring in the Kingsglaive for that.

And he didn’t. He almost looked like their dad for a second with how closely Gladdy imitated his rigid posture.

“I can handle that scrawny runt, no problem,” he scoffed, his humor dying immediately after. “What I’m worried about is Noct getting too chummy with this guy. Catching him off guard is all well and good, but it goes both ways. If he uses that to slip between the cracks and get under Noct’s skin, there may not be enough time to cut him out again before something worse happens. You said I can’t control what he does, but how the hell am I supposed to keep the Niff at arms’ length _and_ let Noct drag a few secrets outta him like that?”

Iris imagined that Gladdy would be more comfortable just dragging this imperial soldier out behind the Citadel and beating whatever answers Noct needed out of him, to be honest. That was clearly more his style and always had been. The only problem was that the prince probably wouldn’t like his methods for plenty of reasons. That was one of the things that made Noct great: he was nice to everybody, even if they didn’t deserve it. 

That had to drive her brother crazy, though.

Their dad didn’t react with the same level of frustration Gladdy had shown, not that that was much of a surprise. No, he was a pro at dealing with this kind of stuff. Iris was well aware of the fact that there had been times when the king had made decisions that her father didn’t approve of (she might have listened in on those conversations too), but he had always managed to keep him safe anyway. If anyone could solve Gladdy’s dilemma, it would be their dad.

“How exactly do you believe he is slipping through these cracks?” he inquired, tenting his fingers beneath his chin.

Gladdy chuckled, although Iris couldn’t decide whether it sounded more amused or bitter. All things considered, she’d just go with a mixture of the two.

“You know Noct. He can’t ignore a good charity case _or_ a stray. This guy’s both.”

Vague answers were apparently off the table, because their father didn’t waste a second in prodding, “And what sort of story has he been presenting that warrants sympathy?”

That one made Gladdy pause, but not for long. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he grunted wordlessly before he managed to mutter, “Guy says he joined up when he was a year old. Doesn’t really sound like he was given much of a choice.”

_Whoa, what?!_

A year old? Seriously? What kind of monster made _babies_ join the army?

Wait, they already knew the answer to that: the imperial kind.

There was a short huff of what sounded like amusement, and Iris tilted her head in confusion. Their dad couldn’t really think making children join the military was funny: it went against everything he and Lucis stood for. She still remembered what he’d told her when she was five and announced she was going to be in the Crownsguard. Boy, had both her dad _and_ her brother put an end to that notion really fast.  

Although he was by no means flippant, Iris couldn’t deny that there was a touch of humor in their father’s voice when he mused, “Are you certain that it is only Prince Noctis that feels some level of compassion towards our guest’s plight?”

There was a beat of silence—two—three—

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Iris bit back a groan. Was Gladdy actually this dense or just trying to avoid what Dad was asking him?

Their father must have been on the same page, because he shot Gladdy a knowing look before clarifying, “I’m asking about you. Do _you_ feel charitable towards this captain as well?”

“I...would feel for the kid if he’s got it as bad as it looks,” Gladdy replied carefully, shying away from admitting anything that might make him sound, oh, _human_. He didn’t wait for their dad to comment on it before he hurried to continue, “Anyway, that’s not the point. Point is, he’s gonna be hangin’ around for a while, and I don’t want him getting any ideas just because Noct won’t watch his own back.”

_Typical Gladdy_ , Iris sighed to herself. For as many opportunities as he’d taken to expand his emotional core tonight, they definitely weren’t making it much further towards any real development. What a shame.

“There isn’t a great deal you _can_ do but keep an eye on both of them. Warn the prince and draw attention to anything suspicious you see, but aside from that, there is nothing more I can offer that you do not already know yourself.” A hint of his prior amusement cropped up again as he concluded, “You may find you’ll be needing to use a bit more brain than brawn on this matter.”

Iris stifled a giggle. Gladdy’s approach to any problem was usually to beat the crap out of it first and work the rest out later. It was always a nice change when he needed to acclimate to a different skill set, although he usually bothered Ignis for that sort of thing instead of worrying about it himself. Most days, Iris would have been relentless in poking fun at him over it; that was her job as his little sister, and she was nothing if not dedicated to the cause. This didn’t seem like the time, though, and his dilemma would have been a bit more entertaining if Noct wasn’t potentially in danger.

“Just remember: you are first and foremost the prince’s Shield,” their father hurried to advise him before Gladdy had a chance to interject out of annoyance. “There is no shame in feeling sympathetic towards the misfortunes of others, and it is an admirable trait for a future ruler to have. You will gain nothing by discouraging Prince Noctis from it. Your task is simply to pay attention to the dangers that surround him and use your best judgment to decide if such compassion is warranted for the time being.”

That was definitely not Gladdy’s strong suit, but he put on a brave face anyway. It wasn’t often that the two of them agreed on what made the best kind of Shield or ruler; besides their devotion to their respective kings, they had very different approaches to the job. But their dad had been at it forever, and Gladdy respected that even if he didn’t like the answer.

The emotional, mushy answer.

“Long as he doesn’t get himself killed, I won’t discourage anything,” he agreed, only sounding like he was half joking. “But if this Shield is gonna sympathize with anybody, it’d probably be a good idea to get some sleep.”

_Real smooth, Gladdy_.

Leave it to her lunkhead brother to find a way out when things got too close to the heart he refused to wear on his sleeve.

But if Gladdy was going to head to bed and avoid the inevitable direction this conversation was taking, Iris would need to get out of the way before he realized she had been listening--she was already surprised he hadn’t burst out of the room to make sure she wasn’t here to begin with. If there was anything her brother hated more than discussing _feelings,_ it was knowing someone else had heard him do it.

“That’s an excellent idea. The envoys are leaving early tomorrow, and I’m certain the prince will need you there to help see them off.”

That was putting it mildly: knowing Noct, he would definitely want an audience to rant to when they were finally free of their imperial guests. In any case, that was something for them to deal with tomorrow. Iris crept towards her room as silently as possible, humming to herself as her father’s voice faded behind her. Perhaps she would have to check out this mysterious captain herself. After all, two Amicitia opinions were better than one.

 

***

 

Honestly, Prompto had expected a lot more pomp and circumstance when the envoys finally departed the Citadel than what they actually got. Well, okay, maybe that kind of made sense: it wasn’t like the Lucians would be feeling very charitable considering the fact that they’d signed away most of their kingdom and all of their dignity at that last snore-fest. Now that the documents were signed and the hands were shaken and the murderous glares were put back in their boxes, there wasn’t much more to do besides say their farewells--and man, were those farewells something else. Prompto hadn’t realized Aldercapt was capable of standing so tall with his nose held any higher in the air. Like, it was _seriously_ impressive. King Regis had affected the same regal posture and countenance that he always did, to absolutely no one’s surprise, and didn’t rise to the bait by bowing and scraping the way any other grunt would.

The way Prompto did when the emperor paused in front of him with a curt nod as he descended the steps towards their waiting transport. He wasn’t a king, though, so it was sort of necessary for him.

The whole thing took maybe five minutes, which was a nice change from all the standing around staring at the walls for hours on end that he’d been doing. One second, the envoys were offering their sincerest thanks for the hospitality the Lucians had shown them (and by _sincerest_ , they meant _necessary_ ); the next, they were on board the airship and rising into the sky to pass through the small hole in the Wall that King Regis opened for them. Then... That was it. They were gone. His emperor and his commander, all those eyes watching for him to slip up, were on their way back to Niflheim.

All but one, of course. Drautos barely glanced at him from where he was standing with the Glaives near the foot of the steps, his expression as casual and focused on his duties as it had been during the rest of Prompto’s stay. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the silent warning emanating from his disregard, though. It was practically oozing from his pores until he was a bit taken aback that no one else could sense it. To him, the words were as plain as if he’d said them aloud: _don’t give me a reason to have to look at you_.

A guy that size? Yeah, Prompto wasn’t about to go tempting fate, even if he still had a few reservations about this spy business.

Which gave him the perfect excuse to retreat into the Citadel as soon as the assemblage started to disperse. King Regis was the only one who didn’t let his expression falter or his shoulders slump in relief that they didn’t have to keep up appearances anymore, although there was definitely some weight to his steps when he led his Shield inside, speaking in hushed tones. Everyone else either broke off into their own little groups, chattering about indecency and humiliation, or glared at Prompto on their way back to their stations. Uh huh. That was no surprise.

Neither was how Prince Noctis hurried into the palace with Ignis and Gladiolus as if he didn’t exist. That had been par for the course the last couple of days: ever since he missed that last round of negotiations, the prince hadn’t shown his face almost at all. Ignis had dropped by Prompto’s room once to assure him that there was nothing wrong, that he was just battling a cold or something and didn’t want to pass it on. Prompto could translate that, however; it wasn’t exactly like he hadn’t been waiting for it to happen. Now that the imperial contingent was gone, Noctis—the _prince_ —was reverting to his normal state, the one that all royals personified when they didn’t have anyone to impress. Prompto might have been his responsibility at the beginning, but there was no one around to force him to accept it anymore. Odds were, Ignis would take him on a few tours of the city or give him a book that would do it for him, and then he would be on his own to figure out how to spend his time. He wasn’t high enough on the food chain for His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum to bother with.

That totally didn’t sting as Prompto trudged into the Citadel and made his way to his chambers. In all honesty, he was kind of surprised that they hadn’t taken them away from him and thrown him in a cell, not that he would have been shocked if they were busy doing that right now. No one could stop them—he was the last man standing, and Drautos wasn’t going to help him out and risk his own neck in the process.

_Might as well make the most of it_ , he sighed to himself, unlocking his door and stepping inside. If they were going to relocate him to more suitable accommodations for someone of his station, then he could think of no better way to spend the day than saying goodbye to that glorious mattress of his.

Or he would have if there wasn’t someone sitting on it.

“Uh...” Blinking, Prompto’s fingers unconsciously twitched towards where he usually holstered a firearm at his side. The girl perched on the edge of the bed didn’t _look_ like much, but then again, neither did the prince.

“Oh, good! That Ulric guy _did_ tell me the right room.” The invader hopped up and nearly bounced over, circling him a moment with her hands behind her back as though _he_ was the one who needed to be investigated. “I mean, I totally expected him to lie since Gladdy would have a fit if he knew I came here myself. Looks like he’s not so bad.”

The tiny potential minister of death stopped in front of him once she’d finished pacing around like a predatory cat and grinned expectantly. It might have been sort of cute if Prompto wasn’t so certain she was waiting for an opening to stab him.

“I’m Iris,” she announced with a grin, rocking back and forth on her heels in apparent excitement. “You’re Prompto, right? Or, wait, am I supposed to call you Captain Prompto? Or is it Captain...whatever your last name was? Sorry, I didn’t overhear my brother say that part…” She trailed off with a nervous chuckle before continuing, “Sorry. Rambling. I just wanted to see you for myself, you know?”

Her rapid-fire string of names and thoughts made Prompto dizzy, and his mouth opened and closed a few times with nothing emitting from it. Somehow, he’d expected death to look a lot older with bigger arms and a stupid haircut, not...a teenager. Named Iris. Who was still smiling at him as if he was the most interesting thing on the planet. If she _was_ an assassin, then she wasn’t off to a great start.

_Like you are?_

Shoving that thought aside, as well as half of what she said since approximately _one_ percent of it made any sense to him, Prompto cleared his throat and shrugged lamely.

“Prompto’s fine? I, uh...don’t really go by my rank.”

That was the understatement of the century, but Iris didn’t have to know that.

“Okay, Prompto,” she mused with a glance around the room that she really could have explored before he got here to save them some _awkward_ . “You know, you keep it _really_ clean in here. Your bed was even made.”

He couldn’t get a word in before she skipped back in that direction, smoothing out the small crease she had made in the comforter.

“I’d ask if that was a Niflheim thing, but the maids were complaining that the other guys trashed their rooms. Yours is neater than _mine!_ ”

_Thanks… I think?_

His silent gratitude was the only thanks he was apparently going to manage, because Iris didn’t seem to want that _or_ apologies for his comrades. Instead, she glanced at him with a smile that seemed completely foreign to Prompto after days of nothing but glares at the worst and indifference at best. Then again, a lot of what happened around the Citadel was like that, so this might just be normal for them.

Regardless, he needed to keep his head in the game and roll with the punches. It was downright embarrassing when Prompto snapped out of his daze to find that the pixie-haired assassin was giggling at him. “You know, the way my brother was going on about you and the whole _being in the army since you were a baby_ thing, I would have expected someone...you know, _scarier_.”

_Who says I’m not scary?!_

Prompto was tempted to let his walls down enough for that to slip past but thought better of it at the last moment. There was so much in her excited rambling for him to comment on that he couldn’t even figure out where to start. It honestly came as no surprise to him that the other envoys had destroyed what Lucis provided—it wasn’t their stuff, so there was no reason to care. In fact, they would been content with fitting into whatever version of _scary_ Iris clearly thought they were meant to. Prompto, on the other hand, figured that if they insisted on giving him nice things for as long as they were obligated to... Well, why not enjoy it? Couldn’t do that if it was all messed up!

That wasn’t the most important part, though. No, Iris knew an awful lot for someone he’d never met before, all thanks to her...brother.

Her brother _Gladdy_.

_Oh no. Ohhhhhh no no no._

“Who, uh... Who’s your brother?” he squeaked anyway. Better safe than sorry.

“Gladd--” She stopped, catching herself before she answered with what had to be a nickname—one he definitely didn’t know anyone using—and altered her answer. “Gladiolus. Noct’s Shield.”

_Well. I am going to die._

At least, he was going to die sooner than he’d been expecting.

If she noticed his sudden and overwhelming panic, Iris chose not to bring it up. She merely beamed at him like her family tree was news to be proud of and not an utterly terrifying revelation, not waiting for his response before she was off again with an amused twinkle in her eyes that he was starting to realize meant trouble.

“ _Sooooooo…_ Is it true you joined up when you were, like, one? Did you go to school? Can you read and stuff?”

In a way, it was a good thing that she was distracting him with so many random questions—it kept his mind off the fact that the prince’s Shield was going to rip him into a thousand tiny pieces and feed him to the murderous feline in the gardens scrap by teensy scrap. That was the only end Prompto could see for entertaining Gladiolus’s sister in his chambers. Him. A Niff. With the daughter of the king’s own Shield.

Which was totally weird. Given how the rest of the family looked, he would have pictured someone a little...bigger. And wider. Well, basically Gladiolus with Iris’s head. And a skirt.

_Wow. Awkwaaaaard._

Brushing off that mental image lest it make him gag, Prompto hurried to scoff, “Of course I can read! Not all our orders are verbal, y’know!”

He had no clue what a _school_ was, but if that was where you learned to be literate, then he could only assume it was what the Lucians called training. In which case... _what_?!

“And why _wouldn’t_ I have school?” Prompto wondered aloud, unable to keep some of his indignation out of his voice. “Gladiolus joined up early and _he_ still had school, right?”

That one seemed to slow her down, her excitement shifting to something more confused. Iris slowly shut the nightstand drawer she had been intent on rummaging through and gave him her full attention for the first time since he’d walked in the door.

“Uh, yeah, but Gladdy’s different. He’s going to be a _Shield_ when Noct becomes king. He did more training than normal school.”

Her frown deepened when he blinked uncomprehendingly--there was a difference?--and her eyes narrowed as she surveyed him more closely than she had earlier. Prompto wasn’t accustomed to being on the receiving end of that sort of expression, not unless it was coming from Loqi, but this wasn’t the same thing. Where his commander would have been eyeing him with disdain and disgust, he could have sworn that the gleam in Iris’s gaze looked suspiciously like pity.

But that couldn’t be it. This was _Gladiolus’s_ sister. Besides the obvious fact that she should have hated him on principle, what would she have to feel sorry for him over anyway?

She must have read his mind, because Iris suddenly shrugged with a cautious, “Most people here don’t join until they’re, like, twenty. I just figured you probably missed out on some normal stuff.”

“N-Normal stuff?” he inquired softly, his eyebrows pulling together against his will. The last thing he wanted was to drop his game face around Gladiolus’s sister of all people (not that he was doing great with that so far), but he honestly had no idea what she was talking about. For guys like him and her brother, this _was_ normal stuff. Following orders, going on patrol, guarding something or someone—that was all normal.

Maybe he was thinking of this all wrong. He _had_ heard of some stuff from the guys who hadn’t joined his training squadron until they were a little older. Not twenty, though—that was practically _ancient_ by military standards. Hell, you were lucky if you made it that long without getting sent into the line of fire. But the ones who could remember what things were like before the emperor bought them sometimes let a few slip, like playgrounds and friends and free time to do whatever they wanted. Prompto remembered saying to himself that that sounded so pointless—what would he do with a few hours all to himself? No orders, no patrol routes, just...whatever?

_No, thanks._

Knowing his luck, he’d end up scrubbing floors again when Loqi didn’t like his choice. He was going to call that a hard pass.

None of that was anything Iris needed to hear, however, nor was it anything she would ever have to worry about. Like she’d said, her family was different— _special_. She probably got to do all kinds of normal stuff since it was Gladiolus who had been sold to King Regis instead of her.

“What, uh...what kind of normal stuff?” Prompto asked curiously when Iris didn’t say anything in response, that little voice in the back of his head whispering that he should at least find out how the other side lived if he was going to shoot someone in it.

Laughing merrily, Iris shot him an odd look and exclaimed, “Oh, you know!”

He didn’t, but she was obviously going to be kind enough to elaborate. Sort of.

“Like hanging out and stuff.”

He had to hand it to her: that might have been the least informative explanation that Prompto could have asked for, and he was speaking as someone who wouldn’t understand what was in that treaty if someone gave him an owner’s manual. It was starting to feel like the Lucians were keeping him in the dark on purpose, which would have been the safest course of action for them. Admittedly, that would have annoyed him a little more if he wasn’t so sure that Gladiolus would murder him for his irritation alone.

“Anyway, you’ll see,” Iris waved his concerns off with an excited bounce. “I’m pretty sure that’s what Noct has planned for you.”

_Is that before or after they burn the evidence?_

Given how things had been going lately, Prompto assumed the prince’s plan involved either a convenient accident or just outright dismissal. Whichever one he chose, Prompto doubted it would turn out quite like Iris apparently seemed to think.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to come up with a more optimistic answer than the ones going through his head. As soon as he opened his mouth, there was a knock at the door that sounded more like a gift from the Six than a summons.

“I’d better get that!” exclaimed Prompto, pointing towards the exit as though Iris didn’t know where it was. He didn’t wait for her patient nod of understanding before he whirled around, flipped the lock, swung the door open—

And immediately slammed it shut again with a yelp of surprise as he leaned his back against it and spread his arms wide.

_I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead..._

Actually, he’d probably be tortured first. Maybe maimed. That would depend on how much time they felt like taking, although he thought Gladiolus would be only too happy to drag his unfortunate demise out in spite of his general impatience.

At least he didn’t have to wait to find out, even if he was dreading the outcome. Unlike Ignis, who probably would have knocked again and asked if he was okay, there was a mighty shove that sent Prompto toppling to the floor. He managed to steady himself at the last moment, but he almost wished he hadn’t when he caught sight of Gladiolus in the doorway. There wasn’t much relief to be found in the way his eyes weren’t focused on Prompto so much as his sister, who looked totally and completely at ease.

Not her brother. Nope.

“The hell are you doin’ here?!” he roared, taking a few steps inside and throwing the door shut behind him with the hand that wasn’t holding a bundle of black...something.

Iris was clearly the bravest of anyone in the Citadel. Prompto didn’t know how else he could describe her when she just stared Gladiolus down and rolled her eyes at him. She didn’t even bother trying to hide it. He could _easily_ use her body to beat Prompto to death, and she dared to look annoyed by his presence.

Who was this girl, really?

Iris offered no immediate response to Gladiolus's question besides a distinct pout, which didn’t do much to assuage her brother’s temper. Oddly enough, it appeared that she, not Prompto, was about to get in trouble for the surprise break-in. And from the looks of things when Prompto glanced from Gladiolus to Iris and then back again… This wasn't going to end well.

So, before he could think better of it, he scrambled to his feet and put himself between the two siblings with as remorseful an expression as he could muster. It wasn’t hard when he’d had so much practice just keeping Loqi pacified over the years.

“It’s my fault,” he insisted earnestly, swallowing hard when Gladiolus’s glare shifted to him. “I... I mean, _we_ were in the...in the gardens, and I invited Iris back here to talk about...flowers ‘n’ stuff.”

Flowers and stuff? He’d never buy it.

But he didn’t shut Prompto down right away, either. Gladiolus’s face froze in an inscrutable expression he couldn’t decipher no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t the _Say One Word And Die_ look, but it was definitely a far cry from his best _And You Are?_ gaze too.

“What?” Iris piped up, leveling Prompto with a skeptical and slightly confused frown. She was obviously unaware of the very present danger he had just saved her from. It was okay--she was a civilian. Civilians didn’t think like that.

Or maybe _she_ intended to protect _him_ , since she wheeled around and pulled at Gladiolus’s arm. She, too, must have sensed the possibility that he was going to use it to put Prompto through the nearest wall.

“I just wanted to see Noct’s new friend,” she retorted easily, sounding more like she was accusing Gladiolus of wrongdoing than admitting to being the one in trouble herself. Before he had a chance to reply, Iris sniped matter-of-factly, “ _You_ wouldn’t bring me along, so I came myself. And what _are_ you doing here? Did the Glaive tattle?”

Wrenching his arm away more gently than Prompto would have expected or thought possible, Gladiolus stared at his sister with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance that seemed a bit too rehearsed to be new. So, Iris made it a habit to go behind her brother’s back and do stuff he wouldn’t approve of, then. Well. That explained a lot.

Like why Prompto was still breathing, for one thing.

“His _Highness_ sent me to get this one ready to go out,” grumbled Gladiolus, sparing little more than a glance for Prompto as he threw the bundle he’d been carrying at him. “You’re gonna want to put those on.”

_Those_ turned out to be another set of the prince’s clothes, if the style and size were anything to go by. They were nothing fancy—just a pair of black pants and matching short-sleeved shirt—but Prompto still blinked uncomprehendingly at them. They...were _new_ . They had to be to look this nice. Why had the prince decided to loan him _new_ clothes? After all, he’d spent the last few days pretending he didn’t exist for the most part. Now was the time for him to go back to the monarchical status quo, to put a rod under his nose to keep it aimed as high in the sky as possible, not...not...

Well, _this_.

“You need help figurin’ out what goes where?”

Gladiolus’s gruff, sarcastic remark yanked Prompto from his stupor. Immediately, he shook his head and assured him, “Think I’ve got it, big guy.”

When he only received a grunt in return, Prompto hesitated for half a second before darting into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. If Ignis had gotten uptight about him changing in the open, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he did that in front of Gladiolus’s sister.

“Oh!” Iris’s voice called out from the other side of the door. “I can fix your hair before we leave!”

Prompto paused with his trousers around his ankles, wobbling back and forth as he stared at the door in utter bafflement.

“It’s not broken!” he yelled through the wood. Not even the Citadel’s master craftsmanship could keep out Gladiolus’s put-upon sigh.

“That’s what _you_ think,” she huffed, her shadow appearing in the tiny crevice beneath the door. “We can’t go fixing your wardrobe and not fix your hair too!”

“We’re not playin’ dress-up,” grumbled Gladiolus. Prompto hadn’t expected to be proven wrong in his previous assumption that he’d never be grateful for the Shield’s presence, but hey, he’d take it. “And there’s no _we_.”

Iris seemed to be a professional at ignoring Gladiolus’s thinly veiled annoyance and pressed on, unconcerned that she was working the big guy’s last nerve.

“You said Noct was going out to get him clothes,” she argued. “That’s the definition of _dress-up_. And he’d be stupid to leave it to you, Gladdy.”

_Gladdy?_

Prompto had to mouth it silently a few times before it really sank in, and he took a moment to grin in the mirror before returning to the task at hand. Something told him Gladiolus wouldn’t take kindly to anyone besides his sister calling him that, but it was worth remembering. Just in case.

If he was worried about Prompto overhearing his nickname, then he didn’t offer any indication. He simply huffed even louder and retorted, “It’s called keepin’ a low profile. High fashion ain’t the priority—making sure no one knows he’s a Niff _is_.”

Iris tutted right back, protesting, “Which is why you should let me do something less _soldier-y_ with his hair. It’s totally necessary.”

“Is not.”

“Is _too_.”

“Is _not_ , Iris.”

“Why don’t you just let him decide?”

At that, Prompto fumbled where he was trying to get his undershirt over his head. She wanted him to do what now?

_Damn it, why?!_

His hair had never really been something he considered, to be honest. It was just _there_ : he brushed it out of his eyes and kept it clean and that was it. What more was there? Besides, anything that took more maintenance would mean he’d fall behind on important things. There simply wasn’t time for that—it was a waste, and probably one that would get his head shaved if he let it become a habit. Prompto wasn’t about to find out what it was like to go out in the middle of the winter in Niflheim with no hair on his head.

But...he didn’t need to worry about that here. The only schedule he had to follow was the prince’s, which was unpredictable at best, and the weather was nice and warm.

Loqi would hate it, too.

_Decision made!_

That didn’t make it any easier to form the words when he called out into the sudden silence, “I, uh... I’m cool with whatever?”

Choice was apparently a thing in Lucis, so if he was going to fit in for the time being, he would need some practice. ...A lot of practice.

_Fake it till ya make it!_

“Awesome!” Iris cheered. There was a tinge of smugness to her tone that was most likely directed towards Gladdy— _Gladiolus_. Gladiolus. Yeah, that was not a mistake he wanted to make no matter how entertaining the temptation made it sound.

“I have just the idea, too,” Iris prattled on. “It doesn’t seem like it’s too long, so we really won’t need much. A little bit of product, and you’ll be looking as good as new! Nobody will ever find out you’re not from Lucis. You know, Gladdy, you could stand to let me do something with yours while I’m at it.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Gladiolus immediately rebuffed her, eliciting a persistent whine in response. “I’m not the one with helmet hair.”

...Helmet hair? Was he for real?

Briefly glaring over his shoulder, Prompto reluctantly peered into the mirror again and... Okay, he had a point. It was definitely kind of flat. But then again, back in Gralea, he usually wore...

A helmet.

Sighing, Prompto shrugged into the prince’s shirt and opened the door to let his new stylist in. Maybe they were both a little better at this than him, and the last thing he needed was to embarrass Prince Noctis in public. That never went well for anyone.

Iris didn’t seem to care what his reasoning was: she practically skipped into the bathroom and pulled Prompto along with her. “You’re going to love it, I promise!”

And if he didn’t… Well, Prompto figured he had the good sense not to tell her otherwise. Going clothes shopping meant that he could always find a hat. Besides, upsetting Iris was likely one of the fastest ways to get buried in this bathroom.

Although, to be honest, there were worse tombs.

To her credit, Iris really didn’t take long with her self-appointed task once she sat Prompto down on the toilet lid with a bit more force than he’d assumed she had in that tiny body. Strange sounds filled the room that almost had him turning to look at whatever it was she was putting in his hair, but she smacked his shoulder every time he tried until he eventually gave up entirely. When she was finished only a few minutes later, she shoved him unceremoniously towards the mirror over the sink.

“Well? What do you think? You like it? I mean, it took a bit of gel, but seriously, it’s no more than Noct and Ignis use.” She was clearly proud of her work, folding her arms over her chest as she concluded, “I think it suits you.”

“ _I_ think it looks like a chocobo’s ass,” Gladiolus chimed in where he stood against the doorframe with a flat, impatient expression. Despite his assessment, Prompto thought it might just have been the only time he’d heard _humor_ in his voice—at least, directed at him. Not that it really registered once he got a good look at himself.

It...wasn’t so bad. Actually, he sort of liked it. It was definitely the kind of style that would have gotten him dunked headfirst into a toilet until the product was all washed out in Gralea, but if he didn’t know any better, standing there in the prince’s clothes and a more stylish hairdo than he ever would have done himself, he would have said he was—

_You’re not_ , he reminded himself sternly. He definitely wasn’t one of them, no matter how different he appeared. That wasn’t going to change, not now and not ever. It was best if he kept those sorts of thoughts out of his mind before it distracted him to the point of failure.

But he had to admit that he was cool with this look, for whatever that was worth.

“It’s a good thing I like chocobos, then,” he joked, rotating his head a bit to see the sides.

Grunting in something like amusement, Gladiolus plucked his phone out of his pocket and asked, “We done here? Or are you gonna do his nails too?”

Iris rolled her eyes, lilting, “You know, keeping your nails clean and everything isn’t just a _girl_ thing, dummy.”

“So wear gloves.”

“I’m so glad the Crownsguard dresses you,” muttered Iris as she absently brushed a few flakes of dried product off his shoulders. Prompto had to agree, even if the shirtless look was a little much.

Thankfully, it seemed she was going to save the manicure for another date. Prompto had no idea what _doing his nails_ would entail, but the way Gladiolus grimaced at the idea had him wondering if maybe he didn’t want to find out. Either way, he was too busy watching Iris spin around and clap her hands in excitement at his approval to worry about it. They’d cross that bridge when they got there.

“Anyway, we’re all set here!” she exclaimed, moving to adjust his shirt so that it sat straight on his shoulders. Sticking her tongue out at Gladiolus for good measure, she pointedly added, “Noct’ll think it’s awesome too. You _have_ to let me help you pick out some stuff. If you leave it to Gladdy, you’ll end up without any shirts.”

_Oh, so that was his decision. There’s a shock._

A glance at her brother told Prompto two things: that he was totally _not_ welcome to comment on the state of his attire, and that _she_ was most definitely not welcome to attend the outing Prince Noctis had apparently put together. Or, more likely, had made Ignis put together. Royals were royals, after all.

Even so, the Shield didn’t say a word. Maybe he realized arguing with her was futile, or perhaps he figured he’d just let the prince tell her off instead, but he watched her ramble on without interrupting. The quirked eyebrow he shot Prompto, however, spoke volumes on its own.

_Don’t encourage her_.

As if he had much choice.

“Uh...what’s wrong with my uniform? Besides the, y’know, mugging probability,” he admitted with an anxious smile. It wasn’t that he was afraid of people attacking him for where he came from—more what he’d have to do to stop them. Plus, his uniforms were clean! They were brand spanking new, too. They’d get him through however many days it took to get to his execution.

Iris, however, decided not to take the question as rhetorically as he’d meant it. And apparently, she had a _list_.

She paced over to the tub, lifting the shirt he had changed out of from the ledge and wrinkling her nose at it. “Well, for starters, they’re ugly. All that white? Seriously washes you out.” Gesturing towards the mirror, she pressed on in spite of his dropped jaw, “The black really brings out your eyes. You know, now that your hair isn’t totally hanging in your face.”

While she continued her systematic dismemberment of everything he thought he knew about his wardrobe, Prompto hazarded a glance at Gladiolus, who didn’t bother hiding how entertaining he found it to witness this sartorial evisceration by a pint-sized fashionista. That was helpful.

“The better question is what _isn’t_ wrong with the— What’s that?”

Starting slightly at the sudden non sequitur, Prompto turned to ask what Iris was talking about only for her to snatch his wrist, scrutinizing it too closely for comfort.

_Um, okay?_

He shuffled his feet cautiously, putting a little distance between him and the Shield’s overzealous sibling in the hopes of getting the _I Swear I’m Not Touching Your Sister_ point across. Prompto was aware he had to have already been pushing his luck as far as social interactions with her went, but that would be a step too far.

“That’s one weird tattoo you got there,” she observed, letting his arm drop back to his side. “What’s that supposed to be, anyway?”

_Is she serious?_

Okay, this was no big deal. Apparently, she was further removed from all this than he’d thought she would be. After all, everything she said made it sound like she thought he’d be super different from Gladiolus when they were basically the same in everything but size. Both of them had been purchased (the Shield probably at a better price, of course), both of them had been trained, both of them had been given their identification. Sure, Gladiolus had clearly been granted permission to communicate with his family, but that wasn’t such a huge deal. It wasn’t like the king’s Shield hadn’t gone through the same thing to get where he was.

The constant picking at everything she found wrong with _him_ but not her brother was beginning to grate on his nerves, and Prompto couldn’t help letting some of it slip into his voice when he huffed, “It’s not weird. Gladiolus has one too.”

“Mine doesn’t look like someone picked me off a shelf,” snorted the prince’s Shield, peering over to look at his tattoo with an inscrutable expression.

Rolling his eyes, Prompto shot back, “Same difference, dude.”

Maybe it was a little gutsy to get so familiar with someone who could and still might rip him to shreds using two fingers, but Gladiolus didn’t seem the type to appreciate brown-nosing any more than the prince. If that was the case, then a different tack was in order.

“Um…” Iris trailed off, interrupting their verbal sparring while her eyes darted between Prompto and her brother. “I don’t think it’s the same thing?”

It didn’t sound as though she was entirely sure about that, not to mention the uncertainty in her gaze when she looked to Gladiolus for confirmation. Rather unhelpfully ( _big surprise_ ), he merely shrugged with a noncommittal grunt. Apparently she was on her own, just like Prompto.

“Gladdy got his because all Shields do. Yours is just a regular tattoo, right?” she asked with a tentative smile. Maybe she had realized that she was edging closer to the end of his patience and assumed he might fly off the handle on her, because she was a lot less pushy when she pointed out, “I mean, Gladdy’s right. Yours looks like how they scan drinks at the supermarket.”

_Wait. What?!_

Prompto frowned. This had to be some kind of joke, right? He’d always heard his instructors say that Lucians were dull-witted and slow on the uptake, but this was just ridiculous. Gladiolus was standing _right there_ with his station plastered all over his admittedly impressive torso—Iris _just_ said that was what it was for. How did they not put the pieces together and understand that his was no different, albeit far less impressive?

“Uh, it’s seriously the same,” he sighed, running his fingers absentmindedly over his brand with a shrug. “All Shields have _that_ . All of us have _this_.”

_It isn’t that hard, sheesh._

Iris was obviously still skeptical if the way she crossed her arms over her chest was any indication. She leveled him with a look that might have been intimidating if she wasn’t barely five feet tall and wearing an admittedly cute moogle charm on her belt.

“I dunno,” she mused quietly, glancing back at her own brother’s tattoo where it peeked through his jacket before focusing her attention on the meager one Prompto was trying his best to cover on his wrist. “Kinda small, isn’t it? Does it mean something? And what are all the lines and stuff for?”

Prompto had thought he’d get interrogated at some point, but this definitely wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Still, at least her questions were relatively harmless, even if he still didn’t quite understand how she didn’t get it.

“Uh... They keep track of...everything?” he replied slowly.

For a second, he thought she was about to ask what _everything_ was, which would take a lot longer to explain. Fortunately, Gladiolus seemed to finally take pity on him.

“Speakin’ of keeping track, Noct’s gonna be wondering where we are if we don’t get a move on. Don’t want him gettin’ the wrong idea,” the prince’s Shield interrupted, nodding towards the door.

Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief at his intervention, Prompto automatically latched on to the change of subject while offering Iris a _very_ insincerely apologetic smile.

“Yeah, don’t want to keep His Highness waiting!”

Iris hesitated as though she wanted to say something more, but the mention of inconveniencing royalty— _thankfully_ —changed her mind. Instead, she shrugged off the awkward conversation and skipped out the door behind them, pointedly ignoring the fact that Gladiolus was subtly trying to get her to quit following before they reached wherever it was the prince had gone.

That was smart of him, too. This was going to get messy if they met Prince Noctis with a tagalong, after all. Prompto just hoped he wouldn’t have her locked up somewhere while they were gone to keep her out of the way. He didn’t really care for her persistent observations and added commentary, but he’d hate to see the prince go all _royal_ on her.

Iris had obviously blinded herself to that possibility and continued to chatter about mundane stuff all the way to the entrance hall. Her brother only offered grunts of acknowledgment without much input otherwise, as though he could put her off by not humoring her. It was amazing that he hadn’t simply commanded her to get lost, to be honest, and Prompto intermittently shot Gladiolus increasingly worried glances right up until they were within sight of the doors to the outside world. That was when Iris finally left their sides, running straight for Prince Noctis where he waited by the exit with a wave.

“Noct! Hi!”

_This is it..._

Or not. Oddly enough, the prince actually looked _pleased_ to see them when he turned around, Iris included. There was a smile on his face and a friendly twinkle in his eyes, and if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t forget it if he tried, Prompto would have thought the prince actually gave a damn that he was there. The guy was a pretty gifted actor, that was for sure. Not for one second did he drop the facade or indicate that he was at all displeased that they were late. If anything, it was _Ignis_ who seemed a touch on the annoyed side.

“We have been waiting out here for over fifteen minutes,” Ignis observed, subjecting Gladiolus to the _Disappointed Commander_ face that Prompto recognized from personal experience. “What kept you?”

“It’s no big deal,” Prince Noctis cut in dismissively. “We weren’t in a hurry or anything.”

Ignis leveled the prince with a glower that suggested he totally did not appreciate his input, which Prince Noctis must have picked up on as he responded with a sheepish shrug and hurried to change the subject. Unfortunately, there was an obvious one at the ready.

“Not half bad,” he decided, suddenly surveying Prompto with a critical eye. “Hairstyle is new.”

The prince was _complimenting_ him now? Well, that was a new one. Prompto didn’t exactly count Prince Noctis’s assessment of his fighting skills: it was an objective fact that he was quick and versatile. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been brought here.

But that wasn’t any way to be thinking if he was going to keep up appearances, so Prompto bashfully poked at the spike of hair that hung awkwardly down at the side of his face.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t know we were going out or anything, so...” He trailed off briefly, shrugging. “It was Iris’s idea.”

It didn’t hit him until the words had left his mouth that maybe bringing up her involvement wasn’t the best course of action, but it hadn’t looked like the prince was averse to her presence. In fact, his smile had gotten a little warmer when she’d darted up to meet him.

That wasn’t the only surprise he was in for either.

Prince Noctis glanced at his Shield’s younger sister before responding to Prompto with a halfhearted shrug. “Not a bad idea. Looks good."

_Looks...good?_

Iris was practically bursting with pride over the minor compliment, immediately using it to wheedle him with a pleading, “You should take me shopping with you guys! I can help him pick out some stuff.”

She flashed them all what had to be her best and most innocent grin, as if having more of them on her side would get her what she wanted. Except for Gladiolus—she already knew what his answer would be. To Prompto’s amazement, he was the only one: it didn’t take much to convince the prince to allow her to tag along.

“Sure,” he agreed, either not noticing or flat out ignoring the exasperation in Gladiolus’s sigh. “I think we’re going to be doing a bit more than just shopping, though. That cool with you?”

Mentally shaking himself, it took Prompto a second to realize that Prince Noctis was talking to _him_. Wasn’t that a question for his chamberlain or his Shield? They were the ones who had to respectively keep them on schedule and safe, so it didn’t really matter what Prompto thought about it. What else was he going to do besides sit around and wait for the opportune moment to strike?

_Let’s not think about that_ , he warned himself, pasting a casual smile on his face. Dwelling on his mission was bound to trip him up, and now that there were no other imperials in the Citadel to distract everyone, all the king’s attention was bound to be on him. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

So, peering cautiously at Ignis and Gladiolus, he took their expectant silence as indication that he really _was_ supposed to offer some input and cleared his throat with a shake of his head.

“That sounds good,” he replied easily. His curiosity got the better of him, however, and he carefully added, “Where else are we going, Yo— _Noctis_?”

Right. No titles. Well, if he was going to turn full royal on him, now was the golden opportunity. Somehow, Prompto doubted that was going to happen, though. If Prince—no, _Noctis_ —had been gradually devolving into the royal jerk he would have been if the empire hadn’t shown up, then he wouldn’t have asked his opinion in the first place. Maybe he was being more cautious than he needed to be; maybe he didn’t want to lose face just yet when there were so many other opportunities he could use to make himself look better in the process. Not addressing him by his title around what he assumed was a civilian? That would force his hand, one way or the other.

Or so he thought.

“Let’s get a move on. Cor’s got the motor running,” Noctis ordered with a nod towards the doors instead of answering. He moved out immediately, not looking behind him and obviously assuming the others would all follow.

Which they did, Iris with a bit more enthusiasm than Ignis or Gladiolus. She was practically buzzing with excitement as she skipped to Noctis’s side, engaging him in a conversation that Prompto couldn’t hear. To his surprise, however, Noctis didn’t brush her off or appear even the slightest bit annoyed by her presence. In fact, Prompto was pretty sure he was smiling.

He couldn’t say the same for the stern-looking guy standing outside the vehicle at the bottom of the steps, whose gaze was zeroed in on _him_. Prompto expected as much by now, but it still didn’t make the implication any less intimidating as they all piled into the car and headed out of the Citadel gates for the first time.


	10. Culture Shock

So, Insomnia. What could he say about Insomnia? Well, without putting too fine a point on it, this place was absolutely, positively the most amazing city he had ever explored in his entire life. Maybe he felt that way because he’d only ever seen Gralea before, but that didn’t make him any less enamored with Lucis’s Crown City as they drove through the gates towards the commercial district. To be honest, he would have been surprised if the Lucians themselves could refrain from gaping, it was  _ that _ impressive.

There was so much going on that he simply couldn’t keep track of it all. People flooded the streets, moving from shops to restaurants and sometimes nowhere at all in masses that you’d never see in Niflheim. Everyone there had places to go and things to do, but the Lucians were casually strolling along like they had all the time in the world. He figured that was for the best, because he would definitely need plenty of it to fully process everything. There were fluorescent lights advertising store names; plate-glass windows displayed the latest fashions and best technology. Menus were posted at the doors of different restaurants to advertise the sumptuous food they apparently served inside. (Prompto didn’t know what a  _ gourmet deluxe burger _ was, but it had to be pretty fancy—and expensive—if they needed  _ two _ luxurious adjectives to describe it.) Bright colors gave way to expansive vistas where he could see the entirety of the city shining in the morning sun, all of it clean and cultured in a way Gralea couldn’t achieve. 

So, yeah.  _ Amazing _ didn’t quite cover it, but that was the best he could do. 

He probably should have been embarrassed that no one else was as glued to the car windows as he was, yet Prompto brushed it aside almost as soon as he noticed. They’d be happy if he showed the city some respect, right? This was their home, after all, so gawking like an idiot had to make them feel like the superior civilization they doubtless believed themselves to be. It was the perfect strategic move. It was the right balance of awe and manipulation. It was just another way to ingratiate himself to his target, that was all.

_ Ooh! Chocobo shirts! _

...Well, maybe there was a  _ little _ more to it than that.

Despite his preoccupation, it didn’t take long for Prompto to realize that they were actually just driving in wide circles over and over again. They’d passed the same restaurant three times in the last ten minutes, which he was fairly sure wasn’t supposed to happen. Tearing his rapt attention away from the window, he met the marshal’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and immediately wished he hadn’t. The stony gaze he received in turn had him whirling back around to face the world outside, uncertain of whether the roundabout driving pattern was meant to thwart potential pursuers or simply to confuse  _ him _ . At this point, he was leaning towards the latter.

It didn’t really matter, though. The sights were just as impressive with each successive pass, and Prompto began picking up on small details he’d missed before. In spite of the tall buildings and crowded shops, the city didn’t have the industrial aura that Gralea boasted. There were trees and flower beds outside the stores, and the entire city lacked the polluted haze that permanently obscured streets throughout Niflheim. It was...well, pretty damn impressive. 

“As we discussed, the first item on our agenda is to pick up some clothes,” Ignis indicated, his eyes on Noctis in the mirror. “The marshal has kindly made himself available to us throughout the day to manage parcels, so we won’t have to carry them.”

In the rear seat, Noctis hummed in acknowledgment without looking up from his phone. Prompto figured the confirmation wasn’t so much for Noctis’s benefit as it was a threat to himself—the marshal,  _ Cor the Immortal _ , would be watching them throughout the day, so trying anything wouldn’t be the smartest idea.

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what they expected him to do here if he  _ did _ give it a go. Noctis was in the seat immediately behind him, so there was no convenient way to get to him before Gladiolus broke his neck; the same went for the innocent bystanders who would sooner take him down than see their prince get killed on their watch. (If they didn’t, the king would probably be executing a lot more than just him. There was something comforting about not dying alone, but that wasn’t really the best alternative either.) The only opening he was going to get today that wouldn’t end in disaster was actually  _ causing a disaster _ . It would be a lot easier to reach up than back, especially when no one would anticipate it. If he jerked the wheel at the right moment, they’d go careening into one of the storefronts; if he was strategic about it, he could kill everyone in the car and make it look like an accident. 

This wasn’t supposed to look like an accident, though. It was supposed to be deliberate, even if the king didn’t realize that the emperor was behind it. 

So, scratch that plan. It left a bad taste in his mouth anyway for some reason that he was  _ not _ going to examine any further.

He didn’t have a chance regardless as Gladiolus chose that moment to guess, “We probably won’t need to go to too many places, right?”

“Might as well do as much as we can while we’re here,” Noctis contradicted him, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “It’s not really sightseeing from behind a window. Any place in particular catch your eye?”

It wasn’t until he leaned forward a bit with a casual grin playing on his lips that Prompto registered the question was for  _ him _ , not the Shield. And from the looks of things, their responses would have been vastly different if the latter had been given the opportunity, not that that was much of a surprise. 

On one thing, however, they were likely in agreement. Prompto had seen at least three stores he would have liked to poke his head into so far, and that wasn’t counting all the restaurants. Everything was so tantalizing that he could have hopped out and walked instead of forcing the marshal to chauffeur them around. The only problem was that he was also uncomfortably aware of the fact that it would be the  _ prince  _ paying for whatever they chose to do, and the last thing he wanted was to pick some fancy, expensive place to go and cost him a fortune. Not that he was cool with Noctis paying for  _ anything _ , really, but he didn’t have much choice there. So, if all he could do was minimize the impact on the prince’s wallet, then that was what he’d do. He’d already been given far too much privilege at the Citadel--he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about what he wouldn’t get to try in the city.

“Anywhere’s good,” Prompto replied, shrugging as if where they went was a much smaller deal than Iris had made of it earlier. For his part, the prince didn’t bat an eye.

“Cool. I’ve got a few spots in mind. You can drop us off in this district, Cor.”

“Think you could put on a seatbelt in the meantime?” grumbled Gladiolus under his breath.

“We should get a move on if we want to have lunch before it’s dinner time,” the prince continued as if he hadn’t spoken, although the quirked eyebrow Ignis shot him was enough to have him falling back into his seat with a placating gesture.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the marshal informed him as he turned towards the side of the street, easily fitting the vehicle between two others that were parked against the curb. “Just make sure you keep me apprised of your schedule.” 

Nodding in affirmation, Noctis gestured towards the trendy-looking shop outside the window and checked with Iris, “You think you can find some stuff for him here?” 

“Uh, of course?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What’s our limit?” 

“We can worry about that after we get started,” he waved her off dismissively, which did absolutely nothing for the nervous lump that had lodged itself in Prompto’s throat every time he thought about how much it had to cost to get clothes in a place like Insomnia.

Apparently, that wasn’t something Noctis was too concerned about. He hopped onto the sidewalk without pause, Iris chattering in his ear about what he would need and his size and all the other stuff Prompto hadn’t considered before they left the Citadel. He didn’t bother now either: it appeared that his fate had been placed in her hands, so there really wasn’t much point. Besides, he was too busy observing the prince’s demeanor since they weren’t surrounded by guards and the need to stand on ceremony for the first time. It was amazing and a little disconcerting to see a royal so at ease in public. The emperor never went anywhere without a parade and fifty escorts, not to mention the snipers that usually preceded him along his path just in case somebody tried to do him harm. That hadn’t happened in Prompto’s memory, but it was apparently something that Aldercapt had on his mind. 

Not like Noctis. He had his Shield, his Shield’s sister, a glorified butler, and an enemy operative for his security detail. Yeah, that was bound to end well.     


“…around the block, if you like. Should we require any assistance, I’ll call immediately,” said butler was telling the marshal, motioning down the street while the latter nodded his understanding. Well, at least they hadn’t forgotten backup. That was a step in the right direction.   


There was no time to consider the competence of the Lucians, however, not when Noctis was already leading the way towards the store’s entrance with Iris hot on his heels. 

“Pick out some stuff you like, and I guess Iris will let you know if you’re right or not,” the prince threw over his shoulder once they were safely inside, his smirk indicating that  _ she  _ was actually the one in charge here. As if things weren’t upside down enough. Royalty letting other people have a say, retainers raising no question as to the safety of their future monarch…

And an imperial grunt getting to go on a shopping spree that might just bankrupt the kingdom if the gleam in Iris’s eyes was anything to go by.

That was honestly all he could think when he got a load of everything they expected him to choose from. None of it was on the scale of the king’s attire by any stretch—he probably had his stuff made to order, and his closet definitely wouldn’t include the range of casual shirts and pants that were threatening to overwhelm Prompto’s senses. Still, they couldn’t be serious. This stuff was way too nice for  _ him _ ! Besides that, how was he supposed to know what he liked? It was all so...different. Not in a bad way or anything, but he’d never seen... The sign called them  _ jeans _ . What the hell was a  _ jeans _ ?

“Got a problem there?” grunted Gladiolus, who appeared behind him so suddenly that Prompto  _ totally _ didn’t jump out of his skin. Nuh uh. Nope.

He also didn’t squeak when he hastily replied, “No!”

Gladiolus stared at him, one eyebrow raised in the exact opposite of an impressed expression. 

_ Pull it together, Prompto! _

“It’s just, uh... There’s...” Swallowing, Prompto smiled weakly and lamely finished, “There’s a lot of stuff in here.”

“That’s kinda why they call it a store.”

“I’ve got it!” Iris exclaimed, ignoring her brother’s sarcasm to grab Prompto by the arm and drag him deeper into the shop. 

Despite the irritated twitch at the corner of his jaw, Gladiolus didn’t say a word about it, nor did his sister look to him for an opinion. Instead, she simply yanked Prompto this way and that, stopping at various racks and pulling out enough clothes to sink an airship. Every article ended up handed to him for safekeeping. Well, he called it  _ handing _ them over, but in reality it was more like he was acting as her own personal pack chocobo. By the time they reached the other end of the store, his arms were stacked so high with garments that he almost couldn’t see over them. That was apparently normal, though, because no one said a word about it. If anything, they joined in the process--including the prince, who was the only one that actually checked to see if he cared for the stuff they were loading him down with. (He wasn’t stupid enough to say no, so onto the pile it went.) 

The whole thing was so surreal: Prompto was utterly baffled by how amused he seemed with all of this. Any sensible member of a royal family would be annoyed, and Prompto wouldn’t have blamed them for it at all. Noctis, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hurry Iris along when she made it quite clear that she was determined to drag them through the entire store; Ignis and Gladiolus merely watched from nearby while they inspected damn near every individual article there.

It was… It was a  _ lot _ .

Prompto didn’t know how long they were at it before Iris finally said the words he’d been waiting for: “I think that’s enough for now.”

_ Yes. Thank the Six, yes! _

“Noct, why don’t you take him to the changing room so he can decide what works and what doesn’t while I look for more?"

_...Easy come, easy go. _

Or maybe not. Maybe this was just the push Noctis needed to actually behave the way someone of his station was supposed to. After all, there was no chance the crown prince of Lucis was going to take orders from a bossy little girl in a skirt, right? If he could get away with ignoring Gladiolus’s educated suggestions, then why would he take crap from his sister? Yeah, this would be the breaking point, all right. No two ways about it. The prince was already opening his mouth, getting ready to deliver the verbal slap she deserved--

“Yeah, okay.”

_ What?! _

Completely dumbstruck, Prompto could only watch as Iris skipped off to find even  _ more _ clothes to pile on top of him without the reprimand he had been expecting. No, he had to have heard it wrong. That seriously did  _ not _ just happen.

A quick slap on his shoulder drew his attention to the prince, who nodded towards an area at the back of the store labeled  _ fitting rooms _ . Whatever that meant. 

“Come on, it’s this way.”

Okay, he was wrong. That  _ did _ just happen.

And that apparently wasn’t even the strangest part.

Prompto followed Noctis into a secluded section that was thankfully bereft of clothing, eyeing the row of thin doors on either side with a frown. He never would have guessed that there was anything back here, especially not more rooms. The sight sent an involuntary shudder up his spine before he had a chance to quash his sudden sense of unease. It was stupid—like,  _ really _ stupid—but he couldn’t help thinking it reminded him a little bit of a few of the chambers in Zegnautus. Of course, calling them  _ chambers  _ was the nice way to put it, and there was no way they’d lock from the inside like these doors seemed to. (Lucians were funny about that.) If the way people were filing in and out to model clothes to their companions was any sign, though, they definitely didn’t serve the same purpose. 

“Uh... So, I just...?”

Nodding pointedly towards the nearest door, Noctis collapsed onto a plush chair with his phone and instructed, “Yeah, give those a shot. If they don’t work, we can put it back and find something else.”

Find something else? That was going to take  _ time _ —didn’t he have better things to do with his day than sit around while Prompto shuffled through outfit after outfit? 

From the looks of it, he didn’t, so Prompto ducked into the fitting room and tentatively locked the door behind him. It was...interesting on the other side, but not in a bad way. A mirror took up one wall, and there were hooks beside it for the hangars he was holding; a bench was situated in the corner that he figured was too small to be of any real use besides depositing his stack of garments. Actually, it was the most  _ Niflheim _ thing in Lucis: functional and utilitarian without unnecessary adornment. So they  _ didn’t _ dress everything up around here.

Not like him. He threw on the first pair of pants and shirt he could grab and peered into the mirror to see someone he didn’t recognize staring back at him—gaping back at him, really. The clothes were... Well, they were  _ cool _ . The jeans were perfectly fitted to his size, and the shirt was loose without looking baggy like his clothes had been growing up. (They always got a few sizes too big so they wouldn’t outgrow anything too fast, usually with interesting results.) All of that in conjunction with his new hair made it seem as though he was a totally different person--a person who looked more like a Lucian than someone from Niflheim. And that... He wasn’t saying anything, but it didn’t feel as bad as he’d expected. 

Until he saw the price tag.

“Nooooo no no no no,” he muttered under his breath in a panic. “Fifteen for a  _ shirt _ ? Are they crazy?!”

They had to be. Noctis, dress-and-dazzle baby behemoth, whoever the hell made this stuff--they were all nuts. Maybe royalty could afford this junk, but normal people?  _ Him _ ? Why would anyone spend this much for admittedly a really awesome shirt? He had no business being here; any prince would have said he wasn’t worth the money.

Well, any  _ other _ prince.

“You okay in there, Prompto?” Iris’s voice called from the other side of the door, effectively banishing those thoughts and forcing his mind back to the here and now.

_ Okay _ wasn’t exactly the word he would have used, but he’d go with it if for no other reason than to get through today without Gladiolus impaling him for offending his sister. Prompto was already thinking he wouldn’t be able to avoid that once the Shield saw how much he was going to cost the prince, so why make things worse for himself?

That was also why he yanked his attention away from the mirror and unlocked the door before he could think better of it. If he was lucky, they’d say he looked terrible and make him put the clothes back.

Even if he kinda didn’t want to.

_ Stop _ , he told himself firmly.  _ This isn’t gonna last. _

Rule number one of being in the military:  _ don’t get attached _ . Not to people, not to the meager belongings they borrowed from the emperor, not to anything. Attachments were weakness; they made you vulnerable when nothing would last forever. This was no different, fancy clothes and lack of Loqi notwithstanding. His clock was ticking, and none of this stuff would come with him when it stopped no matter how much he liked it.

So, clearing his throat, he presented himself  rigidly for inspection with a cautious, “Uh... Does this work, Noctis?”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, it was Iris who answered first, stepping in front of the prince to level Prompto with a shrewd, pensive gaze. “You know, with the new hairstyle and getting him out of that silly uniform, he’s actually pretty cute.”

_ What. _

It was hard to tell whether Noctis was more amused by Iris’s opinion or her brother’s deadpan expression where he and Ignis were standing across the room. If Prompto had to guess, however, he’d go with the second one.

“Well, we’ve got Iris’s approval,” Noctis announced, recovering before his Shield could see if his sister still thought Prompto was cute after being beaten with his own severed arm. “What do you think? You like it?”

_ Great... _

“It’s okay?” Prompto replied, not wanting to seem too eager when he was about to sabotage his own chances of getting what he figured passed for a nice outfit. There was no other choice, not when he had been so painfully reminded of how different he was from the rest of these people. “It’s, uh...kinda expensive, though.”

“How expensive?” demanded Gladiolus with a flat glare at his sister. Oh, was she in for a world of trouble.

No. It would be fine. Prompto could just say this one was his idea—they never had to know that it wasn’t. Plus, he had a feeling the Shield wouldn’t mind being given something to blame on him. Things had been too quiet the last few days, so they were due for a little spicing up.

“Fifteen...for just the shirt,” he ultimately muttered with a remorseful grimace. 

There was a beat of silence where he was positive the others were considering different ways to get him out of this outfit without causing it more damage than his mere presence already had. Then, the unthinkable happened. 

Snorting, Gladiolus rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah. Really breakin’ the bank there.”

“W-Wait…” Prompto frowned, glancing from the Shield to his prince and back again. “But that’s--” 

“That’s  _ fine _ ,” Noctis finished Prompto’s sentence for him, albeit not quite like he’d expected. “If you like that one, we’ll get it, but we should probably grab some better ones too.” 

Ignis nodded in agreement. “You  _ would _ get more use out of higher quality material. Items in that price range usually aren’t made for multiple washings.”

“Oh, uh… Okay,” murmured Prompto, peering at the pile of clothes still waiting for him in the changing room in distant horror. It wasn’t hard to tell that most of the other things Iris had picked for him were made from thicker, softer material than the shirt he was already getting too comfortable in. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to check the price tags on those.

The prince must have mistaken his apprehension for distaste, because he hurried to add, “You don’t  _ have _ to get any of them if you don’t want them. There’s at least three other stores on this block.”

Sure, that was all he needed. Something told him that while Gladiolus had been pretty patient so far, traipsing around the city looking for outfits that he’d probably only be allowed to wear on the rare occasions when they were outside the Citadel probably wasn’t his thing. Come to think of it, maybe  _ that _ was why Noctis was okay with spending so much: they were the same size, so once Prompto went back to wearing his uniforms (or went back to Niflheim, for all the prince knew), he’d just take the clothes for himself. They weren’t anywhere near as nice as his own things, but Prompto figured he’d get some use out of them in training, at least.

That didn’t seem right, though. Prompto would have thought the prince would take a more active role in choosing the styles Iris was picking out if he planned to appropriate this stuff when all was said and done. Maybe Prompto was off base here, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d wear something he didn’t feel comfortable in. Not if he didn’t have to.

Prompto was roughly pulled out of his own musings as something soft yet solid hit him in the back of the head. When he turned to look, he discovered a black wristband on the ground at his feet and a Shield with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. His gaze when he met Prompto’s, however, wasn’t quite as lighthearted.

“Can always give that a try,” he suggested with a significant glance at Prompto’s uncomfortably visible barcode. “Iris always says accessories make the outfit.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. As Prompto bent to pick up the band, he couldn’t help thinking that accessories would  _ also _ be a great way to avoid any awkward questions. Whether Gladiolus was worried about reprisals or just didn’t want to have to look at his brand had yet to be seen, but Prompto appreciated the gesture nevertheless. 

Plus, it was plush and comfy—and  _ way _ cheaper than the other stuff he’d be putting on the prince’s tab today. He could live with that.

He had a harder time living with the sheer number of bags they took to the car on their way out of the store over an hour later. Noctis had made damn sure Iris was around to keep him distracted, so he hadn’t gotten a look at what the total came to, but he knew it had to be pretty lofty. There was far too much accompanying him to his room in the Citadel for him to believe otherwise, and the pinched tension in Gladiolus’s face spoke volumes that his voice didn’t. Even Ignis, who was usually calm and collected, tapped away at his phone with a frown as he presumably calculated just how far in the hole Noctis was going to be after this little venture.

The only one who didn’t seem bothered at all by their spending was the prince himself, who nonchalantly leaned against the truck while his Shield tossed the bags unceremoniously into the back seat. 

“I’m starving,” he announced, glancing around the block as though food would appear at his behest. “Now’s probably a good time to find some lunch.”

“Might I suggest returning to the Citadel so that I can prepare something suitable?” Ignis offered, although his tone suggested that he already knew Noctis wouldn’t accept the offer. 

Sure enough, the prince scanned the rows of shops as he replied, “It’s cool, Specs. I figured we’d hang out here a bit longer, see more of the city and all that. There’s a good diner up the street.”

“Yes, I’m certain our guest came all the way from Niflheim in the hopes of experiencing Insomnia’s refined  _ diner _ culture,” lilted Ignis sarcastically, not that it put a dent in Noctis’s enthusiasm as he motioned for them to cross the street and set off at a quick clip. 

“Can’t see the Crown City without  _ seeing _ the Crown City,” insisted Noctis with a dismissive wave of his hand. Glancing at Prompto, he inquired, “Burgers and fries are good, right? They should have chicken if you’re still stuck on the  _ healthier options _ .”

Well, at least he recognized one of those things. Fortunately, Ignis answered before he got the chance to show his ignorance regarding the rest.

“Fried chicken sandwiches are hardly a healthier choice,” he huffed. 

“ _ Crispy _ ,” the prince corrected him. “Seriously, though, they’ve got salads and junk. It’s perfect.”

His chamberlain definitely had something to say about that, but it looked like he was alone on his side of the debate. Gladiolus appeared to be brightening up for the first time all day, which Prompto hadn’t expected to see until they were on their way back to the Citadel. Burgers and fries, whatever those were, had to be pretty damn appealing.

Or...not.

“Pretty sure the place has got Cup Noodles, if it’s the same one I’m thinkin’ about,” he chimed in with a smirk at Ignis’s long-suffering sigh. 

This time, Prompto couldn’t contain his curiosity and cautiously inquired, “Uh... Cups of noodles?”

Rolling his eyes, Gladiolus amended, “Hell no.  _ Cup Noodles _ . What, you don’t have those back in Niflheim?”

“Not that I know of?” Not that that was saying a lot. 

“They’re the ultimate flavor experience,” explained Gladiolus immediately, a huge grin that Prompto worried might just crack his face in two. “Not sure they sell ‘em outside the city, but they’re the best you’re gonna get. Anybody else is just second rate.”

“So... Better than burgers?” clarified Prompto with a frown. The way Noctis talked, he would have thought  _ that _ was the ultimate flavor experience.

His Shield, however, clearly didn’t agree. He nodded without hesitation, confirming, “Burgers ain’t got nothin’ on Cup Noodles.”

“You sound like a crappy commercial,” Noctis responded flatly.

It appeared that, for once, Ignis was on the same page with him when it came to food. He hummed in agreement and added, “Perhaps you have a point with regards to sodium, Gladio."

_ Okay, so Cup Noodles equal salt bombs. Got it! _

While Gladiolus looked ready to fight them on it, Noctis didn’t comment further, stopping outside an ordinary-looking building. Well, ordinary by Lucian standards—the restaurant they were walking into would have been pretty out of place in Niflheim. The roomy booths pressed up against well-lit windows that gave them an unobstructed view of the street outside, the faint music coming from the ceilings, the various advertisements on the walls for everything from local events to the brand of soft drink they served here… Yeah, it was all  _ very _ Lucian, all right.

The weirdest part was a few colored-in  _ children’s menus  _ proudly displayed on the walls, as if any establishment the prince frequented would allow kids with such terrible coordination to dine there. Unless...they did that on purpose? Like, the kid with the best drawing got a one-way ticket to meeting Noctis or the king? He could guess what happened after that, and the vibrant pictures didn’t make him eager to think about it.

Lucky for him, he was presented with a decent enough distraction. Between the prince shoving a laminated menu in his face and Iris dragging them over to a booth, he was easily able to push those thoughts from his mind. He could ponder them later.

Right now, he needed his wits about him, because there were so many possibilities for lunch that he was getting a little queasy just reading through them all. The menu was covered in photos of various dishes alongside descriptions that made his mouth water—and prices that made him lose his appetite altogether. Was everything in Lucis this expensive, or was it just because of his present company?

Whichever it was, he appeared to be the only one worried about it. Again. Noctis was too concerned with unlatching Iris from his side to slide into the booth, Gladiolus practically trampling everyone to take the seat beside him. It sent a certain unspoken message, not that Prompto was bothered by it. He’d wanted a window spot anyway. 

“Just pick anything that looks good,” Noctis commanded, leaning forward to tap Prompto’s menu once he was seated across from him. “But whatever you get, make sure it comes with fries.” 

_ Fries? What’re fries? _

It was another one of those things he apparently should’ve known already, so Prompto kept his mouth firmly closed while Noctis turned towards Ignis to relay his own order. His chamberlain had pulled a chair up at the end of their booth, his expression stony as he surveyed the restaurant with a critical eye. They must have been to places like this often enough for him to glare around it with an undeniable yet exasperated sense of disdain, especially since the prince obviously didn’t need a menu to decide what he wanted.

“Make sure you ask for no lettuce, tomato, or onion on mine,” Noctis reminded his advisor, who had to be thinking that was sacrilege if Prompto knew him at all.

As it turned out, he did! Ignis frowned in dismay, cleaning the section of table in front of him with a sanitary wipe he’d retrieved from his pocket. “Nothing remotely healthy for you, then?”

Noctis hummed as if he was actually giving the question serious thought. All he came up with was a sardonic, “I’ll take ketchup with the fries.”

From the way Ignis sighed in capitulation, Prompto was going to assume that  _ ketchup _ didn’t meet his standards for actual health food. He simply nodded tersely, however, and scrutinized his own menu as though it might bite him.

Prompto didn’t know why—the stuff on there looked amazing! Sure, it probably wasn’t considered on the same level as what they served at the Citadel (the king likely had a rule about that), but he could tell this was one luxurious restaurant despite Ignis’s distaste.  _ Burgers _ were apparently huge chunks of meat with bread on either side, which would have seemed pretty lackluster if not for all the stuff you could add to it. Bacon, eggs, vegetables of all kinds—onion rings? Those looked good, even if he couldn’t tell how onions were even involved. Then there were other categories on the menu, too, as if the burgers weren’t enough! They had towering mounds of what they called  _ pasta _ with colorful sauces (none of the Cup Noodles Gladiolus had been going on about, much to the latter’s chagrin), sandwiches that could rival the burgers, and a whole section dedicated to a fatty mess of awesome that they apparently called  _ appetizers _ .

Forget the fries—how was he even supposed to  _ guess  _ what he shoulder order?!

“Don’t hurt yourself over there.”

Jolting a little in his seat, Prompto peered up to see Gladiolus frowning at him.  _ Oh, goody. _

“Huh?”

The Shield somehow managed to avoid rolling his eyes again as he repeated, “I  _ said _ , don’t hurt yourself. ‘S’not like we can’t get a few things to go if you can’t decide.”

Okay, Prompto was going to set aside the fact that either  _ he’d _ been that transparent or  _ Gladiolus _ was able to tell what he was thinking. He could worry about that some other time. For now, he’d settle with shaking his head in yet more confusion. That was starting to become a habit.

“Uh... To go?”

“They put the shit you don’t eat in a box to take with you,” explained Gladiolus. He was nice enough not to make it sound like he was talking to an idiot even though Prompto knew that had to be going through his mind.

Noctis’s Shield could think what he wanted, though. Prompto was too busy marveling at the idea that they didn’t get in your face about wasting food and make you eat it off the floor next time if you didn’t finish. Now  _ that _ sounded awesome!

It also made the task of deciding a bit easier, although he was  _ so _ not going to order anything they would then have to haul back to the Citadel along with the rest of the stuff the prince had gotten him today. There was a line between  _ what the hell _ and  _ oh god, oh god _ \--and that would be crossing it.

So, with a quick peek at the prices, Prompto picked the least expensive burger on the list (which thankfully still came with one of those onion ring thingies on top) and pointed towards it with a tentative glance at Ignis. 

“Is...this okay?”

Ignis nodded and pulled out his phone, typing into what looked like a digital notepad and replying, “If that’s what you would like, then it’s acceptable.”

Well, to him it was. As soon as he turned to take Iris’s order, Noctis reached over to scoff skeptically at what Prompto had selected. 

“That’s cool and all, but it’s pretty basic. You sure you don’t wanna try a bit more than that? I mean, Gladio could eat three of those as an appetizer,” he pointed out with a glance at his Shield, who graciously left his response at just an irritated grunt. 

Prompto, however, was frowning down at the menu indecisively. He didn’t want to take anything  _ to go _ , but if the prince said it wasn’t enough food… Noctis was the expert here, right? After all, he had to eat out pretty often if Ignis knew what he wanted without having to be told. (Sure, that was his job, but there were so many restaurants on this street alone that Prompto thought for sure he’d need a bit more to go on than  _ just nothing that will keep me healthy _ .) If he wanted Prompto to choose something  _ more _ , as he put it, then he might as well oblige.

For a price, apparently.

The next burger down was way more than the first, but it came with a lot for the money. It had every vegetable imaginable, plus some condiments he had never heard of before—and that wasn’t counting the onion ring. He was really hoping that lived up to his expectations, because he  _ really _ wanted it to taste as good as it looked.

“I guess I can do this instead,” he amended with a shrug, although he didn’t really need to bother. Ignis had already anticipated him, and his fingers flew over his tiny keyboard as he corrected the order.

“With fries, right?” asked Gladiolus with a—fond?—glance at the prince. “His Highness’ll just give you his if you don’t.”

_ Oh. Right. _

Prompto hadn’t been planning on it, given that  _ fries _ appeared to be just some yellow, floppy straws. But hey, he’d been proven wrong about everything else in the Lucians’ lifestyle so far. Why stop now?

“Sure. Fries it is.”

Now, Prompto had seen some strange stuff since he arrived in enemy territory. In fact, the strange outweighed the normal around here. Even so, nothing quite filled him with an overwhelming sense of oddness like the way Noctis seemed to deflate as soon as his chamberlain was out of sight. With Ignis placing their order and Gladiolus fielding Iris’s chatter, it was as though he simply didn’t have the energy to keep up appearances. He rested his chin in his palm and stared out the window, his expression blank despite there being plenty to see out there. Where Prompto was ordinarily fascinated with what was going on and how the other side lived and all that, the prince appeared more tired than interested in what his people were up to.

Back at the Citadel, he’d assumed Noctis’s absence over the last few days had been like when Loqi didn’t want to go to a tactical meeting, Ignis’s excuse about  _ feeling under the weather _ aside. Seeing him now, Prompto wasn’t so sure that he’d been as right as he’d thought. 

Before he had a chance to set his sights on something a little less awkwardly _ royal-shaped _ , Noctis inconveniently blinked himself out of his own stupor. Prompto had been laboring under the delusion that getting caught by Gladio would be worse, yet this definitely had it beat. Their gazes met momentarily, then the prince instantly glanced away when he realized he was the object of Prompto’s scrutiny.

_ Yup. Smooth move, genius. _

Instead of reprimanding him for not minding his own business, however, Noctis chose to fiddle with one of the salt shakers and pretend he had been paying attention to Gladiolus and Iris’s conversation the entire time. In the interests of self-preservation, Prompto figured it best not to draw any attention to the contrary, especially not when Ignis returned and set a plate of what appeared to be the much anticipated fries and— _ gasp!— _ onion rings in the middle of the table.

“I assumed that you wanted these before the actual meal,” he observed, apparently to Noctis’s pleasure. His previous melancholy was gone in a flash, and Prompto wondered whether he’d simply imagined it. This wouldn’t be the first time he read the prince wrong; odds were that it wouldn’t be the last either.

Then again, maybe the guy was just hungry. He immediately snatched one of the fries with a grateful grin at his chamberlain before pushing the whole plate towards Prompto. There was no missing how Gladiolus’s eyes followed it while Iris plucked something for herself off the edge.

“You gonna try one or what?” Noctis inquired, nudging the dish again.

It sounded like a question, but after the bout of the doldrums Noctis had just yanked himself out of, Prompto thought it was a better idea to treat it like more of a command. The last thing he wanted to do was tempt fate if the prince wasn’t feeling well.

Besides:  _ onion rings _ .

“Yeah, definitely,” he replied with more enthusiasm than was probably warranted. Covering it quickly he selected one of the...extremely greasy and not at all nutritionally sound circles from the plate, twirling it in his fingers a few times before deciding to hell with table manners. Noctis had used his hands, so that was good enough for him.

The second the breading touched his tongue, Prompto thought he might just be having a religious experience. That was what they called it when you floated out of your body in utter bliss, right? He remembered it was something like that. If it wasn’t, then he was making it a saying, because  _ holy shit _ . Forget the fancy food at the Citadel—this was the best thing on the entire planet.

It was so good that he didn’t even think before he grabbed onion ring after onion ring and popped them into his mouth until he barely had room to chew them. That was fine, though. If he choked, at least he’d die happy.

Maybe a bit embarrassed too. The thinly-veiled horror Ignis barely managed to hide by occupying himself with fixing his coffee was pretty telling. Noctis, however, didn’t appear to mind at all; he seemed more amused than anything else. 

“It’s free refills,” the prince commented with a casual shrug, “so you don’t have to eat them like they’re going to disappear.”

“They  _ might _ if you let Gladdy get at them,” Iris contradicted him, cautiously taking a few for herself.

“It’s cool. We’ll send him to get the refills, then.” Noctis pointed to the fries where they lay abandoned on the other side of the plate. “If you’re going to try any of these, you should do it with ketchup.”

Ignis cleared his throat, interjecting before he could make any other recommendations, “And  _ I _ would suggest not filling up on side dishes.”

Noctis snorted, waving off Ignis’s concern. “Not like we can’t bring whatever we don’t eat back as leftovers.”

Ignis was apparently content to ignore the prince’s excuse in favor of zeroing in Prompto, who was suddenly painfully aware of the hot, greasy goodness shoved into his cheeks. Well. This was a situation Prompto knew he did  _ not _ want to be in. The chamberlain had proven far too perceptive for his own good; it wouldn’t surprise him in the least if he was about to be asked whether he was here to assassinate their prince and aid in the destruction of their home. 

What actually came out of his mouth was nowhere near as bad. Thankfully. 

“So, Prompto. Do you not frequent such establishments in Niflheim?”

Swallowing the giant gob of food in his mouth, Prompto subtly pounded on his chest (and blinked the tears from his eyes—those were hot!) as he answered, “There aren’t really any of these kinds of places near the barracks, so...not so much.”

It was only half a lie: there weren’t places like this in Gralea  _ period _ , nor would he have been able to go to them even if there were. He was pretty sure that somewhere in the world, Loqi was already having a conniption; his  _ Prompto Is Doing Something I Wouldn’t Like _ senses must have started tingling by now. That was a pretty common occurrence, though. If it were up to his commander, they wouldn’t eat at all; it was only the necessity of it that forced the issue. His head would literally pop if he got a load of this so-called meal. Prompto was already calling it.

But they didn’t need to know that, especially not Ignis. A change of subject was in order.

Or, he should say, a change of  _ target _ .

“Do you come to places like this a lot?” he asked the prince with a guileless smile.

His question seemed to take Noctis by surprise, and he hurriedly dropped his phone from where he’d been holding it sideways at...eye level…

_ Uh… Weird much? _

“Sorry, your face looked too weird not to take a picture,” he muttered sheepishly.

A picture. With a phone. Well, at least now Prompto could say he had officially seen it all.

Without bothering to explain, the prince pushed the device off to the side and shrugged as he belatedly answered, “Anyway, I haven’t been out much since I moved back to the Citadel, but when I was on my own, I talked Gladio or Ignis into letting me hang out here from time to time. There were a couple of other places, too. Mostly when I was in school.”

That was an interesting concept. A prince living away from the palace? Definitely not something he would have expected. 

It  _ was _ something he would have liked to get some more information on, but apparently Noctis thought he’d said enough about himself and focused on the plate of fries instead of making eye contact. That admittedly seemed like the right choice given how Gladiolus was shaking his head and rolling his eyes next to him.

_ Ooh. Touchy subject? _

Prompto wasn’t sure why, but hey, Gladiolus took offense to the tiniest things. The guy had a short fuse, so he wasn’t about to poke the behemoth by asking about wherever the prince had lived before. For one thing, he likely wouldn’t say; for another, there were only two onion rings left, and Iris was eyeing them with obvious desire. They could say what they wanted about refills or whatever, but there was no way he wasn’t grabbing just one more of those before they were gone forever.

And a fry, because damn, those were almost as good even without whatever ketchup was! The Lucians clearly loved their grease, that much was obvious, but Prompto thought they might be onto something nonetheless.

Frowning down at his food while he tried to figure out how to find the perfect balance of onion ring and fry (Stick the fry through the hole? Eat them side by side? Separately? So many options!), he chose to backtrack a bit instead and nodded towards the prince’s phone. Perhaps that would set Gladiolus’s mind at ease.

“So, uh... What kind of picture?”

The more appropriate question would have been how the hell he had taken a picture without a camera, but Prompto was no idiot. There was only so much he could ask about before things got weird—it had happened too many times already.

Noctis paused a moment, picking up his phone and ignoring the warning glare from Gladiolus that Prompto had been hoping to avoid. Despite his Shield’s reluctance, the prince hesitantly swiped and tapped at the screen a few times before he held the phone out to Prompto. On full display was an image of  _ him _ , cheeks crammed full of onion rings. 

Okay, so maybe he could understand why Ignis had been so appalled. He  _ did _ look downright ridiculous.  

“I can delete it, if you want,” Noctis offered after a few beats of somewhat awkward silence that was broken only by Iris stifling a laugh.

Prompto barely noticed, he was so transfixed on the picture. It...was completely clear. Like, he’d seen surveillance photos that were nowhere near as detailed as this. He could make out every strand of his own hair, every freckle on his face—he could even read the poster on the wall a few feet behind him. 

And this came from a  _ phone _ ? 

_ Unreal! _

Without thinking, Prompto reached out and poked the screen curiously. He didn’t even care that his mouth fell open when a little menu popped up in the corner of the screen, offering him the option to edit the picture—or  _ send it to somebody _ ? You could do that?

“Whoa...” whispered Prompto, unable to find a better word for the total bewilderment he was feeling.

Noctis appeared equally confused when he slowly asked, “Do you wanna try it?”

_ Do I what now? _

The prince handed over his phone without further explanation, leaning forward to press his finger against the screen again. The picture disappeared and left Prompto staring at the reflected image of the top of the table that replaced it.

Too taken in by his own curiosity to think better of it, Prompto instinctively held a finger over the device, hesitating when he noticed the murderous glare that Gladiolus was alternating between him and the prince. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, after all…

Not that Noctis minded in the slightest. Of course he didn’t. He never did.

“You just aim it where you want to take the picture and touch the circle button in the middle,” he instructed, ignoring the heat of his Shield’s disdain.

That, Prompto supposed, was permission enough. Aim and click. That sounded familiar enough that he wasn’t likely to screw it up, at least. 

With one final, apologetic glance at Gladiolus, Prompto stuck the phone over his menu and tapped the little silver circle the prince had indicated. Immediately, it made a snapping sound that almost had Prompto dropping the device in his surprise that it actually worked. That wasn’t to say that he’d thought Noctis was lying to him, but it  _ did _ seem too good to be true that this tiny box could pack such a punch.

Yet that was exactly what it did. When Prompto gingerly lowered the phone, his mouth fell open to see a perfectly formed image of his menu right there on the screen.

“It worked!” he exclaimed, turning the phone and practically shoving it under Noctis’s nose in his excitement. This time, Gladiolus’s twitching muscles when he got near the prince didn’t deter him at all. He simply poked the same spot the prince had to return to whatever camera thing this was and pointed the lens towards the corner of the table.

The picture was so clear that he could see the pale line in the Formica where someone must have scratched the surface. The  _ cream-colored _ ,  _ impossible-to-see-scratches-on _ surface.

“This is amazing,” he whispered in awe as he peered around to find what else he could take pictures of.

In reality, it was more like he was looking for things he  _ couldn’t _ take pictures of. The only direction he didn’t turn for shots was Gladiolus’s. Prompto was trying to ignore how he went rigid and stony-faced the moment Prompto enthusiastically began shooting images of whatever random objects he could find around the diner. Conversely, the prince was more enthused, reaching over the table to survey his handiwork once he’d examined every corner of the restaurant. 

“Perhaps we can find some other subjects after lunch,” Ignis suggested, drawing Prompto’s nose away from the screen. He hadn’t even registered that the chamberlain had picked up their food and distributed it around the table, he had been so absorbed in the  _ clearly _ magical device in his hand. As excited as he had been to try the latest in Lucian cuisine, Prompto would have liked nothing more than to keep poking around on Noctis’s phone now that he knew what it could do, burger be damned. 

An order was an order, though, so he gently set the device down in the middle of the table between himself and the prince. Part of him expected the latter to take it back and never allow Prompto to touch it again, not when he’d filled it with enough pictures to probably monopolize whatever limited memory it had.

So, he was entirely taken aback when Noctis didn’t reach for it. He simply turned to whisper something to Gladiolus, waving aside his Shield’s vaguely disgruntled reaction before returning his attention to his food.

It would have been more prudent for Prompto to pay a bit more mind to what they were conveying to one another, considering the circumstances. For all he knew, they were plotting to strangle him and make it look like he’d choked on his food—there was likely a reasonably sized dumpster they could stow his body in if the marshal didn’t want to take it back to the Citadel to be disposed of. Whether that was their plan or not, one thing was for sure: Prompto needed to keep his head in the game.

And that was so not happening when he had a brick of burger in front of him.

That was the only way he could describe the massive pile of meat, bread, and vegetables on his plate—and the onion ring. That was there too. There was so much of it that Prompto wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to fit it in his mouth. There appeared to be two schools of thought, though: there was Iris, who cut hers in half, and Gladiolus, who dove right in. Then again, he had a big enough mouth that he could probably swallow the whole thing in one go. 

And it looked so much more fulfilling that way.

_ What’s good for the Shield is good for the Niff _ , he reasoned, picking up the burger and imitating Gladiolus.

Onion rings? Definitely even better like this.

Somehow, the relative silence that settled around them while they ate wasn’t nearly as awkward as Prompto would have expected—which was fine by him. He was intent on enjoying every bit of the burger that he had been talked into getting. (The one that was  _ not _ poisoned, by the way.  _ Score! _ )

He was only halfway done when Noctis and Gladiolus polished off theirs with the expert finesse of two people who obviously packed it away like this all the time. Prompto figured that made sense: Gladiolus wasn’t the size of a house by coincidence. It was a bit more amazing that Noctis wasn’t imitating a beached whale, but maybe all that Crystal magic helped him along. Either way, they weren’t keen on waiting for the rest of them to catch up, and the prince elbowed Gladiolus in an effort to shove him from the banquette. 

The big guy surprisingly didn’t argue, although he also didn’t seem too happy about it as he stood and made room for Noctis to slide out after him. Ignis shot them both an inquisitive glance that the prince ignored in favor of pointing towards the door. 

“Gladio and I are just gonna run a quick errand. We’ll be right back,” Noctis briskly explained, if that was what it could be called. Ignis’s dubious expression immediately honed in on the Shield, who looked like he’d rather be doing anything besides whatever it was that Noctis had planned but was being forced to go along with it anyway. 

_ Typical royalty. _

While Prompto may not have known them well, he could sense the silent conversation between the two retainers and tried not to stare—which he failed miserably at. Iris wasn’t doing any better, so it couldn’t be too bad, right? 

“Very well,” Ignis eventually answered, hesitantly drawing his gaze away from Gladiolus. Whatever they were up to, the advisor clearly thought it was in his best interests not to question the prince. Prompto assumed that was probably a good choice: there was no telling what Noctis might do if his decisions were debated in public like this. It was one thing at the Citadel, where he could hear their complaints in private, but there were certain protocols that needed to be followed where others could see. That much, Prompto was well aware of.

So, nobody said anything as Noctis pushed a reluctant Gladiolus towards the diner’s exit. Ignis merely focused his attention on Prompto and offered a pleasant, albeit forced, smile. 

“Is the meal to your liking?”

_ Nice save, dude. _

If arguing with the prince wasn’t in Ignis’s best interests, then drawing attention to it wasn’t in Prompto’s. Instead, he decided to play it safe and smiled through the mouthful of food he was attempting to swallow with some difficulty. One of these days, he was going to learn how to take it easy with stuffing more into his face than he could manage.

That day was not today.

“‘S’amavin’,” he slurred, wincing when a few stray crumbs were expelled from his mouth and landed on his plate. 

Iris giggled at his total lack of sophistication, and even Ignis looked like he was having a difficult time maintaining that ever-present air of disdain at his cro-magnon tendencies. Their attention had Prompto covering his mouth, though, and he choked down what he could before he tried again with more success.

“It’s amazing,” he repeated with a sheepish grin. “No wonder Noctis likes this stuff so much. You guys eat like this all the time?”

It would be so much easier on him if they did. After all, there were two ways to think about this. The first was that Noctis might just die of the sheer amount he ingested so that Prompto wouldn’t even have to bother putting forth any effort; the second was that he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

Maybe if he was lucky, the king would execute him by way of burger.

Sadly, he was never that fortunate. While Prompto struggled to polish off his lunch, Ignis made short work of explaining that he used to be in charge of the prince’s diet before he moved back to the Citadel. At that point, the royal chefs had mostly taken over, although Iris was quick to interject that that didn’t mean he ate anywhere near as healthy as anyone would have thought a prince would. With a Shield that constantly stepped out for what Ignis explained were basically crappy, dried noodles, it was no wonder. Talk about a bad influence.

An influence that was apparently going to do its best to take hold of him as well, because Iris and her brother had a lot more in common than he’d previously thought. According to her, they couldn’t leave until he’d tasted a milkshake, which he’d needed Ignis to explain before he wholeheartedly agreed to the idea. (He had studiously ignored the way Iris demanded to know what was wrong with Niflheim if they didn’t have milkshakes. None of them needed to explore that line of thought.) Well, maybe not  _ quite _ that enthusiastically: his stomach was already so full that adding more had him feeling like he might need to spend some time on the bathroom floor again. But, on the other hand, you only lived once--and not everybody got to do so with a prince’s posse. Maybe he could find room for something small…

Or large. With frothy white stuff on top, if the picture was to be believed. Yeah. He could stand for that too.

The most difficult part was deciding which of the ostensibly million flavors he actually wanted to try. Iris had been helpful and suggested not ordering anything with coffee in it, which Prompto was totally fine with. He’d gotten a whiff of the stuff at one of their fancy breakfasts during the negotiations and learned the hard way that it tasted  _ nothing _ like its scent. Perhaps he just didn’t have the right taste buds for that sort of thing? Ignis was a super sophisticated kind of guy and loved the stuff—it made sense he’d have super sophisticated taste.

He could keep it. That crap was  _ nasty _ .

Ultimately, he took the easy way out and agreed to get whatever she did, keeping his fingers crossed under the table that it wouldn’t be disgusting.  _ Maple bacon _ didn’t really sound like something he wanted to be drinking, after all. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about it until Noctis and Gladiolus got back. Ignis insisted that they wait for the two of them in spite of Iris’s wheedling, and that suited Prompto just fine. It gave him a little more time to cram the small amount he had left into his stomach and (hopefully) digest it before he needed to consider exactly how sick he was going to be that night. Admittedly, he had a bit of an ulterior motive there: keeping his mouth stuffed meant not having to answer any questions, particularly ones about what his life was like back in Niflheim if he required an explanation for something like  _ milkshakes _ . It wasn’t like he thought they would attack him over it, but if Ignis decided to tag-team with Iris, he would be  _ so _ screwed. Prompto was at least ninety-seven percent certain that Iris wouldn’t mind literally twisting his arm for answers. Like sister, like brother.

It was funny: Prompto didn’t want to associate the prince’s presence with safety from interrogation, yet that was exactly what had begun to happen. At least with Noctis around, his retainers wouldn’t go so hard on him. They had to keep up appearances, what with the treaty and all that. Royal eyes meant they had to defer to him; when he wasn’t there, they got to call the shots on their own. 

Which was why Prompto was both immeasurably grateful and freaked the hell out when a bag was dropped in his lap and a prince slid into the seat across from him again. 

“Hey,” Noctis greeted him with a pleased smirk at either himself or the way Prompto jumped half a foot out of his seat. “Brought you something.”

Crowded restaurant notwithstanding, it was unacceptable that he hadn’t heard the prince sneak up behind him—and  _ worse _ , Gladiolus was slipping back into the booth when Prompto hadn’t heard him approach either. The only one who  _ did _ stand out was Iris, who hopped up from her seat to order their milkshakes as soon as she saw the two of them were back. Seriously, he was better than this! None of the Lucians were supposed to get the drop on him. If anything, it was meant to be the other way around.

Adding that to the mental list of things Prompto needed to up his game on, he peered down at the plastic bag that was balanced precariously on his knees with an uncomprehending expression. They’d brought  _ him _ something? And it wasn’t a swift and painless death? The prince couldn’t be serious—there was no way!

Only there apparently  _ was _ , because Noctis nodded insistently towards his...gift?

“Well? You gonna open it or what?”

“Oh, uh... Right...”

Prompto could practically feel Gladiolus’s stern gaze watching his every move as he pushed his plate out of the way to set the bag on the table. It was pretty plain, all things considered; he didn’t recognize the logo on the side, but that was all that would identify it to any of the Lucians. Maybe it was another clothing store? Perhaps the prince’s Shield had told him about Prompto’s barcode and they had gone to get him more accessories to hide it? That was probably it. The prince had spent enough money on him today, so he doubted it was anything bigger than that.

And was proven wrong the moment he slipped the bag down around a white box with a picture of the most amazing, stylish, fancy,  _ spectacular _ camera he’d ever seen in his entire life. (The bar wasn’t set high, but still, it was a huge deal!)

“Whoa...” Prompto breathed.  _ Speechless _ didn’t quite cover his reaction, and his eyes darted back and forth between the prince and the box, which he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch even though Noctis had said it was for him.

The prince chuckled excitedly, giving Prompto a friendly nudge to break him out of his stupor. “It’s all digital, but there are some places around here where you can print the pictures. Pretty sure if we got some photo paper, we could do it back at the Citadel.”

“That would undoubtedly be the more secure route,” Ignis observed.

“Right, that too. Anyway, take a look at this.” 

From there, the prince dove into a thorough explanation of what exactly the device could do—or he attempted to. It was pretty obvious that some of the specs on the box were a little outside his experience. Regardless, he stuttered through anything that gave him pause to walk investigate some of the more advanced settings on the new camera. 

_ Prompto’s  _ new camera.

Because, apparently, that had just happened. The prince had seen fit to buy him not only an entirely new wardrobe  _ and _ food today, but also an extremely pricey-looking camera. 

So much for Noctis’s momentary lapse in enthusiasm being the strangest thing he’d seen yet.

 

***

 

When the prince suggested that they test out his camera in a park, Prompto hadn’t quite understood what he meant. Cars were great and all, but was a parking lot really the best place for that sort of thing? Of course, he supposed it wasn’t the worst spot to pick: maybe they could find a few rare vehicles that further put Niflheim’s to shame or something. That wouldn’t be so bad. Otherwise, he simply hadn’t seen the point. As far as Prompto knew, the only events that happened in those kinds of places were muggings and the occasional murder—not the sort of thing a big, strong Shield would want his little sister going to, for sure.

It wasn’t until a splash of green greeted them a few blocks from the diner that he realized he had been a little off base in his thinking.

The Crown City Memorial Park wasn’t where people parked. It wasn’t where shady deals went down in the middle of the night, if he had to guess, nor was it a spot for a convenient assignation. No, the park was a lush green field that stretched almost as far as he could see when the prince and his retinue turned onto a path that cut right through it. There were actual, honest-to-god  _ green _ trees that were three times the size of the little ones that decorated the sidewalks outside the shops they’d visited. Flowers and shrubs bloomed beneath them, the scent of what he could only assume was nature assaulting him from every angle until he was positive they put his burger to shame. (He’d have to compare notes later, preferably with another burger. For science.)

Even more unbelievable was that the Lucians didn’t just walk by as if their surroundings were a waste of time, a short-lived attraction that would be paved over to make way for industrialism at its finest. There were people throwing balls to one another while others meandered about; kids ran around, ostensibly building up their stamina so they’d be ready when King Regis required their service. None of them seemed to think it was strange that a royal retinue was wandering amongst them—nobody bowed or knelt the way they would have been expected to if Aldercapt had graced them with his presence. No one they’d passed that day had done more than glance a little longer at the prince than was strictly normal. Noctis didn’t appear offended or anything, so maybe he had the same rules outside the Citadel as he did within: no awkward formalities. Prompto couldn’t complain about that.

Neither did the prince’s retainers, who went about their business like there weren’t potential threats all over. That, however, was all Prompto saw once he got past his initial awe—any one of these people could be carrying a weapon to kill Noctis with. Sure, their coming here was random, but there was never any telling. And if it wasn’t on purpose, there was always the possibility of an accident. A wayward ball, a stray runner not watching where they were going. There were even...even...

Dogs.

_ Oh, shit. _

It took every bit of training Prompto had not to falter at the sight of two enormous mutts lounging beneath one of the trees. Their owner was nearby, a portly dude with a book and a cup of what Prompto recognized as coffee ( _ Yuck, no wonder _ .), but neither he nor his pets paid them any mind as they strode past. Prompto was tempted to make sure they weren’t sleeping or dead or something, but it was probably better to count his blessings and move on. He liked his face right where it was.

With that thought in mind, he sped up a little to walk alongside Ignis, who was checking the time on his phone while Iris chattered amicably in the prince’s ear. Unlike Gladiolus, he wasn’t likely to brush Prompto off or toss a carrier full of milkshakes at him for what he’d undoubtedly deem a really stupid question.

“So... You guys take your fun stuff pretty seriously, huh?” he mused, clutching the bag with his precious camera in it a little tighter as a group of children ran by.

Ignis paused to put away his phone before he eyed Prompto curiously. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. The comfort of the citizens is held in rather high regard. Recreational locales and the events within them are maintained for their entertainment. This is hardly the only park in the Crown City, but it is the largest, boasting a total of--“

“Uh, yeah, what Specs said,” interjected Noctis, who had apparently clued into their conversation at some point and was staring at Ignis as though his advisor was speaking gibberish. Shaking his head, he slapped Prompto lightly on the shoulder and pushed him forward a bit so that he couldn’t be subjected to more facts and figures. “You wanna test out your camera, or are you going to leave it in the...box…”

Noctis trailed off, his eyes widening at a black dog Prompto hadn’t spotted trotting over to them with clear purpose. Was it possible that the prince also didn’t care for the little devils?

_ Whew, not just me. _

Or maybe it was. Rather than stiffening the way Prompto did, Noctis slowly knelt beside the beast, shoulders slumping in relief after a moment as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. It was amazing he made it that far and still had a hand.

“What’s up, Umbra?” he greeted the creature with a wide grin. “How’d you find us all the way out here?”

“He certainly  _ nose _ how to track a scent,” Ignis remarked, grinning mildly at Gladiolus where the latter rolled his eyes at the corny pun. 

Obviously, the dog didn’t answer, although he accepted the prince’s offerings of affection and gentle praise before apparently growing bored with it. That was when the compact monster— _ Umbra _ —scurried past him and stopped right in front of Prompto, staring at him with a pair of some of the most intense amber eyes he'd ever seen. If he’d thought that Ignis could peer into his mind, it was as if this dog was looking into the depths of his  _ soul _ . 

And Prompto was powerless to do anything but stand there, frozen in place.

The prince hesitated only a moment and then stepped between them, quietly assured the canine, “It’s okay, that’s just Prompto. He’s a friend.”

_...What. _

From the looks of it, Gladiolus was thinking the exact same thing. Their eyes met behind Noctis’s back before darting away, both of them attempting to find anything else to stare at besides each other. After all, Prompto didn’t need the Shield to remind him that they  _ so _ weren’t friends. They were companions at best, and even that was merely for the time being. As soon as he completed his mission, any remote sense of toleration that kept Gladiolus from killing him would vanish, and he’d probably be the first to take revenge on Prompto to protect his prince’s honor—what remained of it when he was bleeding out, anyway.

A high-pitched whining caught Prompto’s attention, and he forced those thoughts aside to peer down at Umbra where the dog was anxiously pawing the ground at his feet. For half a second, Prompto was tempted to run—if the beast was preparing to pounce, then he didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity.

But he didn’t. Whether it was Noctis’s reassurances ( _ false _ reassurances that there was no way he actually felt) or Prompto’s lack of panicked fleeing, Umbra stayed rooted to the spot and continued surveying him as though he was on display for everyone’s amusement. Or he wanted the same treatment Noctis had given him. That wasn’t going to happen.

Whatever Umbra gleaned from their brief stare-down, he must not have seen enough to know Prompto’s purpose here in Lucis. That or he was personally insulted by Prompto’s aversion to showering him with affection, because the great beast took a few steps forward and proceeded to nudge Prompto’s hand with his nose.

Which would have been cute. If it weren’t vaguely terrifying. 

“He likes you,” Noctis observed, avoiding his Shield’s piercing gaze while brushing the dirt off his pants.

As if to confirm his assessment, Umbra huffed and licked Prompto’s hand. Or maybe he was just tasting him. That burger was suddenly rearing its ugly head. 

“Maybe Umbra would be a decent test subject for Prompto’s camera?" Ignis recommended as he cleared his throat, offering a much needed if slightly horrifying distraction. “I’m afraid we don’t have all day.” 

“Yeah, we’re wastin’ daylight,” grunted Gladiolus. 

He didn’t wait for the rest of them before he stalked off towards a set of benches nearby, collapsing onto one and dumping their milkshakes beside him. Not seeming keen on testing his Shield’s patience further, Noctis followed immediately, Iris and Ignis in his wake.

It took Prompto a few seconds longer, although it was only partially because there was a monster sitting in his path. A monster that was now rubbing its head against the side of his leg as though pretending to be adorable was going to change Prompto’s mind. Which it wasn’t. It  _ totally _ wasn’t. He’d seen plenty of dogs to know this game. Of course, the ones in Niflheim usually tended to be the predators while his unit played nice, but same difference.

That didn’t stop him from tentatively reaching out and poking Umbra’s cold, wet nose when he turned it up to stare at him. 

“Hey, Prompto!” yelled Gladiolus, effectively scaring the shit out of him. “Wake up!”

Oddly enough, Prompto wasn’t the only one who glared in indignation as he started towards the others. Umbra whined plaintively at his side, bunting his leg a few times in...consolation? Nah. Couldn’t be.

Gingerly placing his bag on the bench, Prompto muttered, “S-Sorry... So, uh... How do we work this thing?”

“Takin’ it outta the box is always good,” deadpanned the prince’s Shield.

_ Right. Good advice.  _

Umbra sat down at Prompto’s feet when he situated himself on the bench with the others and dug his camera out of the packaging. Prompto figured he might be imagining things once again (that was happening a lot today), but he could have sworn the dog was side-eyeing Gladiolus in either curiosity or disgust. Well, maybe he was just projecting--he could relate to that a bit too well.

“It should come fully charged,” Ignis indicated, clearly attempting to smooth over the awkwardness that had settled around them. “I assume you know how it works?”

“Oh, uh... Sure. Point and click, right?” 

Echoing what Noctis said before was enough reassurance for Ignis, who motioned vaguely for him to get on with it.  _ It _ was a lot more difficult when there was so much stuff he could take his first picture of. He wasn’t a sap or anything, but... Well, this camera was kinda special. He wanted the first photo on it to be a good one, not just some blades of grass. There were the other possibilities, of course—actually, strike that. Gladiolus probably wouldn’t care for that too much. Maybe Umbra? ...Nope. No way was he going for that, just in case the dog decided to resort to its meaner instincts.

As Prompto sat there vacillating, the camera— _ his _ camera—held carefully in his hands, Iris made his decision for him. Thankfully. He found that he liked it better when people did that. 

“Here, try this!” she suggested, lifting the only untouched drink from the carrier and holding it up. “You’ll want to remember it anyway once you have some.”

“Just a damn milkshake,” grumbled Gladiolus while he absently took a pull from his own. 

Iris smacked his arm, which didn’t even jostle him. “He hasn’t had one before, Gladdy!”

If that argument made a dent in the Shield’s condescension, he didn’t show it. He simply rolled his eyes and looked on while his sister shoved Prompto’s drink in front of the camera again. Apparently, he wasn’t going to get out of it.

“Uh, okay! Just...let me...”

Prompto didn’t even have to peek through the viewfinder—there was a digital screen on the back that looked just like Noctis’s phone. That definitely made it more convenient to line up the shot, check the lighting, and hit the button on top to take the picture. A little more fiddling brought it up on the screen, clear and perfect and—

“Now  _ try it _ ,” insisted Iris, thrusting the milkshake into his free hand.

“Take it easy around the camera,” Gladiolus grudgingly warned. Prompto doubted he actually minded, but the prince had probably spent a fortune on this thing, so being careful was the better plan.

It was a smart idea, then, that he put the device down before he took a gulp of the sweetest, sugariest, most phenomenal cup of paradise ever.

“Why is everything  _ so good _ ?” he whined, going in for another sip. If a sip emptied half the container in one go, that was.

Umbra must have agreed, because he deposited his muzzle on Prompto’s leg with a low whimper and shot him what had to be one of the most pitiful looks he had ever seen. Prompto tensed in spite of himself, unsure of how to process this latest shock: the dogs that he was accustomed to never played up the pouting like that. Usually, they were a lot more teeth and a lot less big, pleading eyes. 

“He wants you to share,” Noctis interpreted like it was nowhere near as major a deal as it was. Leaning over, he dropped a small dollop of the white froth from his shake on the dog's nose; Umbra wasted no time in happily licking it off, nuzzling Noctis’s hand in thanks. 

“Noct,” Ignis warned, flashing the prince a disapproving scowl. Apparently, he was against sharing—good call, in Prompto’s opinion. 

“It wasn’t chocolate,” Noctis evaded. As if to prove his point, he followed the excuse up with offering Umbra another small sample that earned him a sigh from his advisor. Ignoring him to swirl his spoon around his nearly empty cup, the prince shifted his gaze back to Prompto and inquired, “So, does that mean you’ve got no Niflheim delicacies to recommend?” 

Prompto blinked, cautiously glancing up from his heavenly drink to reply, “Well, we’ve got some good stuff. It’s just...different from here.”

That was putting it mildly. Still, it wasn’t a total lie: Prompto was positive that there had to be delicious food somewhere in Gralea. He simply didn’t know where and figured it was saved for the emperor, just like the prices made the best sustenance here exclusive to the royals. They couldn’t fool him—not everyone in Insomnia could be made of money, right? As such, it was only logical that some items were meant to be seen but not touched.

Prompto had gotten to, though. The thought made him take another deep pull from his cup as he sighed in contentment. He definitely had gotten to. 

The last thing he wanted was to remember his usual fare, however, so he quickly steered the subject back to what they’d come here for. Umbra didn’t seem to mind, although Prompto had to turn away from the betrayed gleam in his eyes when he move away from where the dog was using his knee as a leaning post. 

“Okay! So, now that we’ve got the royal meal taken care of, what next?” he mused, scanning the park for something else to test his camera on.

Noctis was on his feet in an instant. “You’ve got room for over a hundred pictures. Might as well fill it up. There’s a pretty cool fountain over this way, built in memory of some really badass captain. You’d probably like that.”

_ Right. Captains. Sure. _

“Yeah, sounds awesome,” mumbled Prompto as enthusiastically as he could manage.

It wasn’t that he didn’t get excited over stuff like that. After all, they had statues and junk in Gralea. They were all of the emperor, and they were only in the Keep, but they were still pretty cool. Mostly. Sometimes they got boring, but hey, military life. What could you do? 

Apparently the Lucians felt the same, because he had no choice but to follow the prince a few yards away from the others to peer up at some sculpture of a soldier Prompto didn’t give two shits about. When it all boiled down, every soldier had the same job: defend their country. A few of them got famous for it, sure; somebody had to be in the right place at the right time. Everyone else faded into obscurity, which was honestly the best fate Prompto could think of in his line of work. The ones who got remembered generally didn’t meet happy ends. 

This guy had gotten lucky, although that wasn’t what caught his attention at all—the fountain itself  _ was _ . He’d thought the little lakes in the Citadel’s gardens were cool, but this had water shooting up into the sky in artistic little arches that practically screamed  _ overindulgence _ . Seriously, the things these people spent their money on. Prompto was just surprised it wasn’t paying homage to the king in his younger days, which would have made way more sense than  _ Somebody Von What’s-His-Name _ holding a sword over the pool below. 

Not that Prompto was above getting a shot of that—the fountain, not the statue. The most he caught of the latter was its concrete shoes. 

The real gold was what he saw when he turned around.

All things considered, Gladiolus didn’t seem like the type of guy who would be good with animals. Or kids. ...Or humans. Anyway, the point was that he had a few rough edges that Prompto didn’t think you could sand down with a sledgehammer. As such, he never would have expected to see the big guy bent over his knees so Umbra could lick the rest of his milkshake right out of the cup. It wasn’t even an accident! Gladiolus didn’t look put out or angry for a change—actually, his expression was clear in spite of the fact that Prompto was standing with Noctis out of arm’s reach. It was unheard of. It was unprecedented.

It was time for a photo op.

Snickering under his breath, Prompto raised the camera and got a shot before he could talk himself out of it. The image on the screen was everything he could ever hope for and so much more when he poked the prince with his elbow and motioned towards his masterpiece.

“Dude. Best. Picture. Ever.”

Noctis immediately broke into a grin, tilting his head to examine the picture as he led the way back towards the others. The statue of the boring old captain was long forgotten, and the prince did nothing to hide his amused chuckles at his Shield’s expense.

“Man, Gladio, I never took you for a dog person,” he teased when they approached. “Nice one, Prompto.”

“The hell you talkin’ about?” the Shield grumbled as he straightened. His cup, however, remained conspicuously on the ground where Umbra could continue making quick work of its contents.

Bolstered by the prince’s support, Prompto turned the camera so he’d be able to see the screen and lilted, “I’m thinking of calling it  _ Dog’s Best Friend _ .”

Oddly enough, Prompto hadn’t thought that Gladiolus’s face could turn an even deeper shade of purple than it had when he and the prince had teamed up to put him on his ass. Wonders never ceased around here.

“Delete that,” he ordered, his tone deadly. “ _ Now _ .”

Where Noctis had folded under Gladiolus’s stern and downright intimidating gaze in the training room, he didn’t back down now. Too many witnesses, maybe. Or he had to make up for lost time. Whatever his reasons, the prince appeared emboldened by the big guy’s obvious lack approval for their behavior. 

“Nah, keep it,” he insisted, quickly shielding the delete button with his hand when Prompto automatically moved to tap it. “Gladio’ll appreciate it someday when he’s having a  _ ruff _ time.”

Was...he making corny jokes? He was totally making corny jokes. Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, heir apparent, was making lame puns about dogs.

_ This can’t be happening. _

Only it was. Noctis looked far too satisfied for the opposite as he smirked in the face of his Shield’s murderous glare. The latter didn’t move to snatch the camera like Prompto expected, although the way his hands clenched into fists in his lap was pretty telling.

Which was why Prompto had to make it worse.

“You sure? I thought a Shield would be  _ groomed _ for perfection,” he observed with a wry grin.

It was encouraging to hear Noctis snort in response to his addition, even if Gladiolus clearly didn’t appreciate them essentially ganging up on him. Noctis apparently realized that as well, and he held his palms up in a show of mock surrender. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll stop  _ hound _ ing you.” 

Never mind. Royal privilege seemed to mean he got at least one more shot.

But only one.

“Noct.”

It was Ignis’s warning that had Noctis retreating a step, raising a hand in silent apology for his less than royal behavior. That didn’t stop him from muttering, “Dog petter,” but at least he had the presence of mind to make it quiet enough that his chamberlain wouldn’t catch it. Not that that would have mattered, from the looks of it. To his befuddlement, it actually didn’t seem like Ignis was as exasperated as he sounded, though Prompto was trying to calculate the odds that a prince could get killed by his own Shield. Given how tightly Gladiolus was gritting his teeth, he figured it was safe to say that Noctis was toeing the line. 

“You’ll have to excuse Gladio,” Ignis explained, obviously reading Prompto’s thoughts in that really awkward manner he had of knowing absolutely everything. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

A beat of silence--two--three--

_ Did...he just...? _

He did. Iris burst out laughing, and Noctis wasn’t far behind her while Ignis merely smiled smugly at his own contribution to their comedy routine. Gladiolus was the only one who wasn’t amused, although he seemed to think better of fighting them all at the same time. Instead, he grunted wordlessly and leaned back on the bench, arms folded and looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately, he soon got his wish. Once the laughter had subsided and Umbra had taken up residence at Gladiolus’s feet in silent admiration, once Prompto had filled up a good bit of his camera’s memory with photos and gotten a balloon chocobo from a vendor, once they’d given something called a  _ merry-go-round _ a shot and checked out sidewalk art (in which the Astrals featured prominently, much to the prince’s apparent disinterest)--once they’d seen and done and conquered, it was time to head back to the Citadel. If it were up to Prompto, he would have stayed out all night; there was so much in the park alone that he could only imagine what was waiting in the city itself. 

His hand was forced, however, when Noctis nodded off on the bench around sunset, his head falling onto his Shield’s shoulder and his mouth hanging open slightly.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long,” Prompto muttered for the millionth time, glancing abashedly between the sleeping prince and his chamberlain.

“You needn’t worry. His Highness insisted that your wishes be accommodated,” Ignis reassured him as he tapped out a message on his phone. “You acquired all the pictures you wanted?”

“Uh, yeah…?” Prompto didn’t have much more of an answer than that since he was too busy trying to wrap his mind around anyone caring about him getting what  _ he  _ wanted. The notion was ridiculous, too ridiculous for words. They probably meant the emperor.

_ Duh. _

Prompto struggled to keep that in mind while Gladiolus finally nudged Noctis awake, the latter swatting at him grouchily until he fully registered where he had fallen asleep. What followed was a blur of motion: the prince rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to regain some coherence, Gladiolus absently offering Prompto the balloon animal to hold while he got him on his feet, Ignis wandering off with Iris to summon Cor, Umbra curling up under the bench and watching them leave instead of following. (Prompto wasn’t disappointed about that. He  _ wasn’t. _ ) All of a sudden, it felt like everyone had a role here besides him, and Prompto found himself at a bit of a loss for words all the way back to the Citadel. Iris kept up a steady stream of conversation with whoever would appease her, which was nice, but he still thought he should have done more—what  _ more _ was, however, he had no clue

Ultimately, he gave up and settled into his seat until they arrived at the gates. When they stepped inside and parted ways, Ignis accompanying him to his room while the others went...wherever it was they went, he was unable to do much more than offer a muttered thanks for everything. A bit lame, but at least it was something.

It wasn’t until Ignis left him standing in the middle of his room, arms full of his royally funded spoils, that Prompto realized he hadn’t gleaned anything from the prince that he should have. An entire day, and all he had was that Noctis liked burgers and could fall asleep literally anywhere. While that was all pretty impressive, he still groaned to realize that he was definitely going to need to get his head back in the game if he had any hopes of completing his mission

And he  _ was _ going to complete his mission.

 

***

 

Ignis had to admit that he hadn’t expected to collect such a vast array of mental notes that day. Instead of a few cursory observations and meager analyses, however, he had spent most of the last few hours carefully cataloging each interaction with and reaction from their imperial guest—and it wasn’t solely  _ Prompto’s _ actions he had been paying attention to. 

Noct’s recent behavior was a minor yet growing concern of his, one that did not show any signs of abating anytime soon. While it was common knowledge that his charge enjoyed naps a bit too much for his own personal tastes, the bouts of exhaustion that had plagued him over the last few days were a touch outside the norm. It admittedly hadn’t grown severe enough that he thought he should bring his concerns to the court physicians, but he was attuned to every shift of Noct’s demeanor and nuance of his health regardless. Well, more than usual.

If anything, Ignis reasoned that it might very well be the predicament they had landed in with Prompto that was most at fault for his prince’s sudden ailment. As such, he was not at all surprised to enter Noct’s chambers and discover him lying face down on the couch as though the outing had utterly drained him. 

“You could at least change out of your street clothes,” Ignis tutted, crossing the room to take a seat in one of the adjacent armchairs.

Noct lifted his head just enough to manage a half-hearted glare. It was a mite less intimidating than he no doubt meant it to be. 

" _You_ could at least…” He trailed off, clearly coming to the realization that he lacked a decent retort and hating every moment of it. With this battle of wits quite lost, Noct merely groaned and dropped his face into the pillow once more. “Can’t whatever you wanna talk about wait till morning?”

“I suppose, if you wish to get up earlier, we can have our discussion before breakfast.”

Ignis barely finished his suggestion before Noct sat upright, attentive yet annoyed. “Fine, fine, I’m up.”

That wasn’t the most convincing of reassurances, but Ignis decided not to remark on it. If that was the best he could manage for now, then it would be wise to take what he could get. 

Luck, however, was not on his side. Noct’s lackadaisical approach to the conversation was more than matched by Gladio’s irritation when the latter barged in, slamming the apartment door shut behind him and leaning against it with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Good of you to join us,” lilted Ignis. He hadn’t meant to intensify the glare that was aimed decisively in his direction, but he supposed there was no helping that now.

“Had to tell my dad to put a leash on Iris. She snuck in to visit the damn Niff, and nobody said a word.”

The rigidity leached from Noct’s shoulders when Gladio’s ire wasn’t immediately directed towards him, and he somehow mustered the energy to joke, “Well, now we have a break-in specialist if you ever need to get into his room.”

The deadpan glower he received by way of response was enough to have him visibly rethinking his endeavor to pretend everything was normal. Noct might have been laboring under the delusion that Gladio was more angry at Iris than him, but he wasn’t so foolish as to believe his levity at the park at his Shield’s expense wouldn’t come back to bite him later. It was merely a matter of triage for the time being.

“That  _ is _ rather concerning,” Ignis interjected before it could come to that, carefully testing the waters while simultaneously hoping to defer Noct’s sentence. “What did she visit his room for?”

At that, Gladio tensed minutely, and the glance he shot Ignis practically screamed that there was more to his impending explanation than he was willing to provide—to Noct, in any case. Not that the latter seemed to realize that he was being misdirected, but that was a consideration for later. 

For now, Ignis quirked an eyebrow when Gladio answered, “She wanted to see ‘im for herself. Ended up biting off more than she could chew.”

“How so?” 

“That Niff ain’t right,” grumbled Gladio, shifting uncomfortably. There was a pregnant pause before he continued, “He’s got this tattoo on his arm. Never seen anything like it. When Iris asked, he told us it’s so they can  _ keep track _ or something like that.”

“I saw it when we trained together. That weird barcode thing on his wrist, right?” Noct sank deeper into the couch and frowned in concern as he glanced between Gladio and himself. “Thought he just liked how it looked or something.”

“Well, the fact that Niflheim operates their military in a less than honorable fashion is not exactly news,” Ignis observed in as unaffected a manner possible. While he wasn’t enthused with the likelihood of Prompto’s circumstances, his priority had to be Noct, as did Gladio’s. It would do them no good to have their prince more worried about the enemy’s circumstances than his own. 

Gladio, it seemed, was in agreement. He wasted no time at all in adding, “Yeah, no surprises there. Plus, it’s not like it’s totally outta the ordinary.”

“Quite right. Utilizing tattoos or physical markers as identification is an admittedly familiar concept,” Ignis ventured. “Gladio’s are the markings of a Shield, as are Master Clarus’s.”

“Yeah, but we don’t use that to keep an eye on him or anything,” Noct pointed out skeptically. His gaze shifted to Gladio for confirmation that his Shield refused to give, so he huffed, “It’s  _ weird _ , Specs.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Unfortunately, it was of greater importance to Ignis that they remain focused on the task at hand: determining the threat Prompto potentially posed, if any, rather than pitying him for whatever plight he might have been born into as a citizen of Niflheim. Some things simply could not be changed, especially when one was dealing with an empire that literally governed more than half the planet. 

“I assume that they must use them much in the same way that we carry cards and badges. The empire is nothing if not utilitarian. They may simply find that route more secure. By imprinting their identification onto their skin, they run little risk of it being lost or stolen.”

“Still messed up,” Noct muttered imploringly as he eyed his Shield. If he thought he would be vindicated by the latter, however, he was sorely mistaken.

Rather than acknowledge his concerns, Gladio merely shrugged awkwardly under his insistent gaze. Ignis knew better than to believe that this latest revelation did not impact him at all, of course. To the contrary, he was quite certain that it had been on Gladio’s mind all day, hence his distraction when he was not otherwise occupied with his self-proclaimed duty of keeping Prompto as far from Noct as possible. Even so, he was well trained and well aware that they could not afford any distractions, humanitarian or otherwise. Not at present.

As such, Ignis was unsurprised when he brushed the matter aside in favor of more productive discourse, much to Noct’s apparent chagrin.

“Whatever the empire’s up to, we’ve got bigger problems on our hands here,” he grumbled, pointedly ignoring Noct’s eye roll. “Now we’ve got a Niff running around the Citadel with a camera.”

Noct’s voice was heavy on the sarcasm when he shot back “Oh,  _ yeah _ . Someone seeing all those pictures he took of you and Umbra is  _ way _ more important than whatever that tattoo is for. My bad.”

Gladio’s glare was scathing, but Noct paid him no mind. He was far too absorbed in his own indignation for that, which was precisely the reason they would need to proceed with caution.

If they were allowed to proceed at all.

“So, I gave him a  _ hobby _ . What’s the big deal? He can’t send the photos anywhere without us knowing,” Noct pressed on dismissively before his Shield could respond in kind.

“He doesn’t need a  _ hobby _ . Following you around  _ is _ his hobby.”

Ignis sighed, shaking his head. This was not how he had wanted things to go. Gathering intelligence on the empire had been one of their many priorities, but had he known this was the type of information they were likely to end up with, he would have set aside the notion completely. Noct was compassionate to a fault, which was a worthy trait in any future king, yet his obviously growing attachment was disconcerting. It would have been well and good to feel sympathy for a refugee or a Lucian commoner; this was a captain in the imperial army. Neither he nor Gladio could afford to have Noct side with him over them, not to mention the king. For all they knew, that had been the emperor’s plan all along: dispatch someone who would pluck on Noct’s all too sensitive heartstrings and drive a wedge between him and those tasked with guiding him. It was just he sort of underhanded devilry Aldercapt enjoyed, but Ignis was not about to let him win if that was indeed the case.

Concerning as Prompto’s situation appeared, it was detrimental to Noct’s safety to allow such a friendship to flourish. What they should have been considering was how to safeguard the territories they were losing from a similar fate, not invest their time in someone who had potentially already fallen too far into it.

Saying so was likely to prompt a less than desirable reaction, so Ignis attempted to ease the blow a bit by gently remarking, “Based on the information he’s provided to us, I suspect that this is simply what Niflheim does with children who are orphaned or taken into the care of the state. In exchange for shelter, food, and security, they are expected to serve in their army. It is, possibly, better than the alternative.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Noct demanded, clearly not falling for it. “Their army treats them like garbage. We already know that.”

“That may be, but--” 

“He’s not  _ bad _ ,” interjected Noct. “I mean, the guy got weirdly excited over onion rings and my phone camera, but he’s more of an asset than a threat. You could probably get him to turn over state secrets in exchange for a cookie.”

Oh, yes. The more Noct spoke, the more his own theory appeared to hold water. Ignis and Gladio had been with Noct since they were children. They’d had their differences—more than he cared to think about—but Noct had always valued their judgment highly nevertheless. That he was willing to fight them on this, that he was willing to defend their enemy as though the latter was more of a friend than they were, spoke volumes of Prompto’s influence. That had to be the emperor’s goal—he could think of few alternatives.

Gladio must have considered the same, although Ignis was impressed at his decidedly cool reaction. He did not lose his temper; he did not respond with the sort of vitriol Ignis would have expected. Instead, he made a move in this game of chess that even he had not taken into account.

“All right. If you’re so sure, then what’s say we put it to the test?” he suggested tersely. “Tomorrow, we train. We’ll bring your  _ new friend _ and see if he really is as harmless as you think.”

It wasn’t exactly what Ignis would have resorted to, but it seemed a reasonable trial in light of the circumstances. Well, in his opinion, at least. Noct was of a different mind—a mind that was slowly but surely being twisted to suit Prompto’s purposes rather than the ones it should. He immediately attempted to brush the idea aside with a flippant, “Yeah, that definitely worked out  _ so _ well for us last time.”

Once again, Gladio impressively took the high road. He’d informed Ignis of the rigamarole their first training session had become, and he could tell right away that Noct was uncharacteristically attempting to use his humiliation to manipulate him. It didn’t work: his Shield leveled him with a glower so intensely unimpressed that Noct was left reeling in silence. Never let it be said that he did not know where the line was. He might toe it on occasion, but this was where it ended. When Gladio said they were training, they were training. Only a fool would believe they could convince him otherwise, and while Noct was many things, a fool was not one of them.

“Fine,” he eventually capitulated, sullenly glaring at the floor. “Not like it’s going to change your mind, though.”

This time, Gladio did respond: he barked a humorless laugh and eyed Ignis with a significant inclination of his head that Noct couldn’t see.

“Better hope that ain’t true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey in case some of you all didn't already know [The Asset](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6) has finished up her totally awesome [Sleeping Beauty AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11423292/chapters/25593375) and is starting an awesome fix-it fic 'Honor Bound' Saturday. So if I were you, I'd subscribe so you'll know right when it drops. 
> 
> Until next time, guys!


	11. Not Quite Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! We hope you guys enjoy this chapter and Royal Edition--we sure will be!

When Noctis accepted the power of the Astrals, the Draconian had neglected to tell him how exhausting just  _ housing _ the power would be. Sure, the god had made it pretty clear that using even a fraction of it would kill him, but it would have been nice if he mentioned that it would also leave him needing more naps than usual. After all, it sort of made hiding what he’d done a little harder than he originally expected. 

No one had said anything about his behavior—not yet, anyway—but he knew it was only a matter of time. He wouldn’t be able to ignore Ignis’s curious glances or Gladio’s searching glares forever. Eventually, they would want answers, which he definitely couldn’t give them. If he did, they’d take his condition straight to his father, and Noctis sincerely did  _ not _ want to find out what would happen in that instance. Fortunately, it wasn’t like he had to worry that his advisor or anybody else would guess what had happened; it was a huge leap to make without proof, even for Ignis. The added scrutiny, however, didn’t make getting through each day any easier. 

That sensation of being watched was the sole reason he had agreed to this stupid training session in the first place, as a matter of fact. If he had refused, he would have had no leg to stand on when his friends started making judgment calls about Prompto. If he didn’t have a leg to stand on, it was as good as letting them claim a victory and keep insisting that their guest was an enemy waiting to pounce. 

Noctis wasn’t sure why that idea bothered him so much, but it did. Maybe it was the injustice of it all when Prompto hadn’t really done anything that he could honestly qualify as suspicious behavior; maybe he was just not reading into whatever it was Ignis and Gladio saw when they looked at him. Hell, he couldn’t even fathom what that might be. As far as Noctis could tell, Prompto’s only crime was being brought up in Niflheim and inducted into their army, not that that was much of one. Given that it didn’t seem like he’d had any choice in the matter, Noctis couldn’t bring himself to count that as evidence against him. If anything, doing so seemed like a dangerous way of thinking. Shouldn’t they be focusing on the motives of their actual, confirmed enemies instead of persecuting potential allies? 

He would have thought so, anyway. The two people he’d always considered his best friends, the ones who should have seen it his way and maybe been surprised at how diplomatic he was being about this, didn’t agree. Instead, they tossed glances at each other left and right as though he wouldn’t catch that they thought he was losing his mind. 

One thing was for sure:  _ they _ were the crazy ones if they believed that making everyone fight each other was going to prove anything. To be honest, he got the feeling it would do less to incriminate Prompto than it would to reveal his own secret. Now  _ that _ was a real problem. 

Noctis peered at Gladio where his Shield was walking alongside him, quiet and deep in thought the way Noctis didn’t usually see him. He hadn’t said much of anything when he’d met Noctis in his room, and he was still uncharacteristically silent as they strode down the corridor towards the training room. Whatever was going through his head, however, it was pretty unlikely that he was worrying about their impending smackdown as much as Noctis was.  _ He _ didn’t have to be afraid of fighting Prompto.  _ He _ didn’t have to be afraid of what was going to happen if he lost—or if he  _ won _ . 

All he had to do was watch the shit fly, and he  _ would _ if Noctis had to fight instead of him. 

Once the Astrals’ powers had been consecrated inside him, once he’d accepted that burden, things had gotten...weird. It was like all of their voices were in his head, whispering things that he couldn’t make out in languages he definitely didn’t know. All he could decipher was that they had been waiting to step in, waiting for him to get off his ass and actually use the might he’d gone to such great lengths to acquire. Keeping them in check was tough enough without the added difficulty of putting himself in the middle of a combat simulation. 

Knowing the consequences not just for himself, but for Prompto, Noctis couldn’t help worrying. If he got into an actual fight, whether it was the real deal or just a sparring session, those voices might get a little more insistent that they take over to show him how it was done. That was the last thing needed. 

For now, his goal was to hold on to his trump card for as long as possible. He wouldn’t need it until Niflheim returned to set up their colonies outside the Wall, so there was no use showing his hand early. Flattening them when they least expected it, far from home and in unfamiliar territory to boot, would ideally create enough chaos within the empire that Lucis could finally topple them. 

Of course, he’d be gone long before he would get a chance to see if it worked, but Noctis had faith that his friends and his father could finish the job. They’d be the ones to bring  _ actual _ peace to Eos; he was simply providing an opening. With any luck, and if he wasn’t reading the situation as incorrectly as the others believed, he could count on Prompto to be one of those friends and do the same. They would be in a much better standing if they had someone from Niflheim on their side in making sure the empire was defeated for good. 

Now if only Ignis and Gladio could understand that. 

“So,” Noctis ventured in an attempt to cut through the quiet tension that lingered between them as they walked, “what’s the plan?”

Gladio blinked a few times, effectively pulled from whatever thoughts he’d been lost in as he took a deep breath. None of the anger he’d exuded during their first training session was there, although Noctis could tell he wasn’t as at ease with the situation as he tried to appear. 

“It’s simple,” he replied after a minute. “We get warmed up, then give ‘im the chance to let loose. You two spar, see if he takes the shot. If he does, then we got our answer. If he doesn’t, then either he’s not as stupid as we thought or...”

Noctis didn’t need him to finish his sentence to know how it was going to end: or he was  _ right _ . 

Somehow, he doubted it would be that simple. Even if Prompto stayed on the straight and narrow, it couldn’t immediately solidify the idea that he wouldn’t turn on them in an instant. His reputation alone was stacked against him, especially where Gladio was concerned. Still, it would be a step in the right direction, so Noctis figured it was worth it all the same.

If he didn’t accidentally kill Prompto first.

His Shield probably wouldn’t mind that so much, but it  _ would  _ invite some unwanted questions. His best bet was to finish this training session as quickly as possible and with no one dead. 

Rolling his shoulders a bit to loosen up the stiffness crawling down his spine, Noctis nodded and muttered, “Right. So, bait him. Got it.” 

“Should be a piece of cake.”

Why was it that Gladio always made it sound so simple? If Noctis didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were on their way to a picnic instead of a potentially dangerous clash. The only thing the two had in common was that, this time, he’d been allowed to change in his own chambers. At this point, he was beginning to wonder if that would be his sole victory for today. 

_ Speaking of... _

“If he  _ doesn’t _ take the opening,” Noctis mused, pausing outside the door of the training room, “does that mean you’re going to give him a shot or…?” 

_ Or are you still going to think he’s up to something? _

For a second, he wondered if he was going to get an answer at all. Gladio simply stopped beside him, arms folded over his chest and looking for all the world like he wasn’t going to budge an inch unless his hand was forced. Even then, he had no doubt that his Shield would go down swinging. It was admittedly his job.

What Noctis didn’t expect, however, was the piercing gaze aimed in his direction that seemed to cut right through him. Ordinarily, Ignis was the one who tried to slice him open with his eyes and find out what he was hiding, not Gladio. (His secrets didn’t generally amount to much more than how big a mess he’d left in his room or just how many pastries he’d packed away, but still, it was the principle of the thing.) Today, however, his Shield appeared to be doing his level best to find something that Noctis wasn’t putting into words. The weight of his intense scrutiny nearly had him squirming in place, but he held his own until Gladio finally let up an interminable moment later.

“I’m not promising anything,” his Shield warned him, although the biting animosity he’d expected was conspicuously absent. “We’ll see how it goes, but if I gotta decide between who I’m protecting, you can bet it ain’t gonna be him.”

He turned away before Noctis could answer but didn’t open the door immediately. Instead, he sighed heavily and shot a halfhearted grin over his shoulder in something like apology...or understanding.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Noctis responded with a reluctant smile, unable to put his thoughts into words. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, not after Gladio and Ignis had ganged up on him after their trip into the city, but he’d take it. He and Gladio might not be on the same page, but at least it felt like they were in the same book. That was something, anyway.

And it was going to have to last him a while, because when his Shield finally opened the doors, he noticed that Prompto had already arrived and was waiting for them by the weapons rack. The Crownsguard operative that had escorted him and apparently stood watch in the meantime nodded in deference to Gladio and exited behind them without a word. Yeah, he probably didn’t want to see this—Noctis didn’t either, but he didn’t get a choice there.

It was honestly no wonder that Prompto looked so nervous, upon closer inspection. Given the way their last encounter in this room had ended—in disaster—Noctis could only imagine what he must be thinking. At the very least, he couldn’t have expected them to try this again, or for Gladio to be so willing to take part. 

That was why Noctis figured it was best to keep this as nonchalant as possible. They didn’t need him assuming this was the trap it definitely was.

“Hey,” he called with his hand raised in greeting. Pointing back at his Shield, Noctis grinned sheepishly and lied through his teeth, “Gladio thought we might be getting soft after all the junk food yesterday, so we’ve gotta work it off.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t entirely a lie. That burger had sat in his stomach like a rock—a tasty, completely worth it rock—and Gladio wasn’t one to rest on his laurels. In fact, he grunted in approval of his quick excuse as he pushed past on his way to the bench, his trademark scowl firmly in place. Whatever Prompto proved to be today, it wouldn’t change the fact that when it was game on, Gladio vanished and the Shield took his place.

“Ain’t gonna look so good if you head back to the empire all flabby,” he agreed gruffly. “Can’t have anybody thinkin’ we don’t know how to stay in shape around here.”

Snorting, Prompto seemed to take their banter as indication that he wasn’t in trouble and easily retorted, “Pretty sure  _ you _ weren’t in any danger of that, big guy.”

“Good, ‘cause I wasn’t talkin’ about  _ me _ .”

“See, you  _ say _ that, but I saw the size of that burger.”

For the barest fraction of a second, Gladio’s disdain slipped to show a hint of amusement hiding at the corners of his lips. Then again, maybe he imagined it, because it vanished a second later. A raised eyebrow took its place, although his reply was no less snarky than Prompto’s.

“Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t follow it up with a shake, huh?”

Prompto nodded in mock solemnity, shooting Noctis what could only be described as a mischievous smirk as he commended him, “Umbra appreciates your sacrifice.”

“Can it.”

“Next time, he’d probably prefer peanut butter banana,” Noctis recommended since he wasn’t the one Gladio had told to shove off. Not that Prompto appeared to have any plans of obeying if the grin on his face was any indication. 

Still, Gladio’s eye roll notwithstanding, it was all fun and games until Noctis remembered the real reason they were here. This was a test, one that he was really hoping Prompto would be able to pass. The alternative was just too disappointing to imagine. 

With that in mind, Noctis plopped down on the bench and looked to Gladio. They couldn’t avoid this forever, and now that it was showtime, he’d have to play along and pretend he had no idea how this was going to work.

_ Easier said than done. _

“So...” He trailed off, offering his Shield his best attempt at a sly smirk. “You looking for a rematch between the two of us, or did you have something else you wanted to try?”

It was a low blow, particularly considering that Gladio couldn’t very well defend himself against it. If they wanted to get Prompto where his friends wanted him, then that would have to wait. As such, he definitely deserved the deadpan expression he got in return. Anyone else wouldn’t know what that meant, but Noctis did. He was  _ so  _ dead later.

Well, as long as he was the only one, that was fine by him. 

“Like I said,” Gladio grumbled irritably, “I’m not the one who actually needs the exercise. You two are up.”

Beside him, Prompto swallowed hard and tugged at the wristband they’d gotten the day before. It effectively covered his tattoo, which was good; it also gave him a nice tell, which was even better. From the looks of it, he didn’t relish the idea of going up against Noctis. Now it was merely a matter of finding out why, besides the obvious reality that Gladio would wring his neck if he so much as accidentally made Noctis stub a toe.

“The two of us?” Prompto parroted blankly. The last dregs of amusement slipped off Gladio’s face as the guy who had trained Noctis since he was a kid settled in for the afternoon.

“Did I stutter?”

Laughing nervously, Prompto covered up his misstep with a shrug. “N-No! Just, uh… Just figured you’d probably want to get the first swing, that’s all.”

Gladio’s sudden sneer was more than enough to tell them what his mouth did a second later: “Princes first. I can take my swings later.”

“ _ If _ there’s anything left for you to swing at,” Noctis joked. It struck a decidedly darker note than he would have liked, so he hurriedly aimed for some levity. “How many swings do you think it will take to work off everything from yesterday?” 

Scoffing, Gladio nudged him off the bench towards the weapons rack and took his spot as he casually replied, “Guess we’ll figure it out.” 

Which was Gladio’s way of saying as long as they needed to. Great.

“Well, won’t have to worry about those calories,” Prompto concluded with the kind of brightness that made it obvious he felt the same way Noctis did. Who in their right mind would actually  _ enjoy  _ this kind of thing, after all? 

Oh. Gladio. Right.

Whatever. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could go back to bed. He was already exhausted, and they hadn’t even begun. 

At least he didn’t have to worry about Prompto selecting a weapon that he couldn’t handle this time. Daggers were tough no matter who you were: Ignis did fine with them, but then again, he was also talented enough to perfect ambidextrous wielding. Noctis was getting better at it; he had to when Gladio insisted on him being able to use anything he might have in his arsenal to take on an enemy. They weren’t his first pick, though, and it looked like Prompto agreed with him. He selected an average longsword—a good size and easy to heft around if you were new to the fighting style like it appeared he was. Honestly, Noctis had loved that one when he was a kid. All he had to do was swing, no finesse required. 

Nowadays, he wouldn’t get away with that sort of thing, but Prompto was allowed if it meant he could get the job done. It just depended on which job he was attempting to accomplish, was all. 

With that comforting reminder and his own sword in hand, Noctis led the way into the center of the chamber, shooting Gladio a wary glance to ensure that his Shield was paying attention. He really didn’t need to bother: Gladio was so focused on them that it was actually sort of discomfiting. This would have to be one damn good performance, then. 

The board was set. 

The pieces were in position. 

“You ready?” asked Prompto, his stance a little too low and his shoulders a bit too high.

_ Smart move _ , Noctis mused silently to himself. It was a good call, waiting for him to throw the first proverbial punch: they had, after all, placed Prompto in an awkward position where anything he did might be construed as wrong. If he went for it, that would be an attack; if he didn’t, he was simply hedging his bets to assess who had the advantage. As far as Noctis was concerned, he just wanted to believe that this was more proof that Prompto didn’t have any darker intentions hidden beneath that wristband with every other secret the empire was keeping. Coming right for him with a longsword would have been a sign of the opposite, really. 

So, Noctis cut him some slack and dove in first. Prompto immediately deflected and parried, then they were off. 

For a few minutes, it was nothing more than a boring rhythm of half-assed blows, neither of them attempting to take a more aggressive position. It couldn’t have been the most impressive sight for Gladio, who was watching from the sidelines with his arms folded and his expression shuttered. Then again, Noctis couldn’t fault Prompto for that: even Noctis felt a bit nervous under his scrutinizing gaze, and  _ he _ wasn’t the one secretly on trial here. 

That was probably for the best since Noctis’s focus began to slip as a persistent, nagging hum thrummed through his veins and needled at the inside of his head. It was exactly what he’d worried about--the Astrals’ power coursed through him, growing restless and volatile like the Six themselves. Unlike him, it seemed unable to differentiate between an actual battle and a practice session like this. It didn’t care that they were just training; it didn’t care that neither of them was gaining an advantage over the other—at least, not intentionally. It purely sought a release that couldn't be sated by shopping and milkshakes.

It was good to know that their power was thankfully tied to his own will, leaving him in complete (albeit tiring) control. That meant he was less likely to turn Prompto into a puddle, but it didn’t seem to stop the pounding in his skull as the ancient magic struggled to break free. Noctis could only assume that the Astrals were less than thrilled at having their powers claimed by a mortal and then not used the way it was intended to be. Not that it made much sense to him: they weren’t doing anything with it anyway. Why would they be put out that he was doing exactly what they were? 

Who was he kidding? The Six were an inscrutable bunch at best, so this was probably par for the course. 

That didn’t make the situation any less exasperating—or exhausting. The longer he and Prompto danced around each other, trading blows with no end in sight, the shakier his limbs felt. It had nothing to do with stamina or lack thereof, oddly enough. No, Noctis’s attention was divided between sparring with Prompto and making sure he didn’t accidentally tap into the powerful reserves he now hosted within him. One false move and he could obliterate his opponent; if that wasn’t bad enough, and assuming he didn’t destroy the entire Citadel in the process, he’d have to field Gladio’s confusion afterward as well. He had to hold it together--there was no other option. 

Something had to give, though. Noctis was doing no better keeping up the pace than he was focusing on this battle. As the match extended, his movements grew so sloppy that Gladio had to be thinking he needed remedial courses. Even worse was that Prompto was noticing it too. On two occasions, he had lunged for Noctis, clearly expecting him to dodge only to redirect his momentum at the last moment when he realized that Noctis was off his game. That didn’t matter, however, not when it wasn’t his place to say anything and Gladio was the one running the show here. 

Sadly, he couldn’t tell if Gladio even noticed Prompto’s more courteous ripostes or the way he backed off if his next blow seemed like more than Noctis could handle. He had to assume he didn’t, because that would have been too helpful. When was Noctis ever that lucky?

Definitely not today, that was for sure. With every missed opportunity, with every glance between his opponent and his Shield, Noctis faltered more and more. All the while, Gladio didn’t say a word, even if the crease between his eyebrows indicated that he was considering it. 

It would have been awesome if he actually did call the whole thing off. Black spots encroached on the edges of Noctis’s vision, threatening to overwhelm him in spite of his best efforts to keep them at bay, and it was all he could do to just remain on his feet. He had given Prompto plenty of openings to strike (not on purpose as planned, but that didn’t matter), yet the captain had taken  _ none _ of them. If anything, Prompto had retreated at every opportunity, allowing Noctis what time he could to regain his dwindling composure.

It didn’t work.

A deep breath. A shake of his head. He could do this—he  _ had _ to do this.

His palms were so sweaty that Noctis could barely keep a steady grip on his sword. Everything was working against him, his own body even betraying him when he needed it to pull its shit together. It was as if the godly magic inside him knew he wanted to end this fight sooner rather than later and was calling to him with greater urgency than before. There was an easy solution, it said, one that Noctis was positive he didn’t want to utilize. 

Quashing those quiet whispers and their promises of a decisive victory took more energy than he realized, and when Noctis lunged forward to counter one of Prompto’s attacks, he never got to see whether his strike met its mark. The entire room wavered out of focus, and Noctis pitched forward towards the hazy, insubstantial floor.

 

***

 

“Whoa! Noct, are—I mean,  _ Noctis _ —wha—"

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It  _ so _ wasn’t supposed to happen.

Prompto didn’t wait, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—he dropped his sword automatically and reached out to catch Noctis under his arms before he could hit the ground. It was padded with mats in case someone took a tumble during training, but still, he didn’t think it would be very comfortable when you couldn’t break your own fall.

And Noctis certainly wasn’t going to be doing that anytime soon, not when his eyes slid shut and Prompto found himself carrying the entirety of his weight on his own. Luckily, the guy wasn’t heavy or anything; it wasn’t like he assumed hauling Gladiolus around would be for whatever poor bastard succeeded in bringing him down.

At least that would have been on purpose. Frozen in place with the prince limply leaning against him, Prompto racked his brains for anything he might have done to put Noctis in this position only to come up empty. How could it have been him when the prince was the one who had been attacking in the first place? He’d seemed just fine, if a little tired, but that started long before he randomly conked out. There was no blood on the floor, no bones popping out where they shouldn’t be. For all intents and purposes, everything seemed normal.

Until, you know, he collapsed. That was the exact  _ opposite _ of normal, as far as Prompto could tell.

Gladiolus all but confirmed it when he came barreling in, practically shoving Prompto out of the way as he yanked Noctis into his own arms. Maybe Prompto was imagining things, but the Shield seemed to lower his charge to the floor with uncharacteristic gentleness, his movements slow and tentative so that he didn’t jostle the unconscious prince more than absolutely necessary. The latter didn’t stir, not when his head rested against the cold mat below him or when his Shield’s fingers pressed gingerly against his throat. It was a horrific tableau, one that seared itself into Prompto’s eyes until he thought he wouldn’t be able to forget it for the rest of his life: a guardian leaned over his liege, his fear and his trepidation on open display.

That wasn’t the sort of thing you would see in Niflheim. In fact, it was the opposite of what you’d see in Niflheim. If something happened to Loqi, his unit would probably cheer before the next commander was assigned to them, and even that would happen before his body grew stiff. No one would give a damn if any of them fell, yet Gladiolus was bordering on frantic as he checked Noctis over for any injuries. It didn’t matter that the prince mistreated his retainers or took credit for their accomplishments like his own commanding officer did. There was genuine affection in the Shield’s eyes and more than a little terror when he surveyed his prince and found, like Prompto, that nothing appeared to be wrong.

Which was when his entire demeanor changed as though someone had flipped a switch. His gaze shot to where Prompto was standing a few feet away, blazing with a combination of hatred and disgust that set the hair on his arms on end.

“What the hell happened?!” he growled. For a moment, Prompto seriously wondered if Gladiolus was going to attack him; his muscles were tensed, and his fingers twitched like he was aching to clench them into fists.

Shaking his head in numb shock, Prompto could only stutter, “I d-don’t… I don’t know, he… I… He just… _ fell _ …”

“Just fell,” echoed the Shield, his tone low and deadly.

“It wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”

Nothing he was saying made any difference to Gladiolus, who simply glared at him with the eyes of someone who would have put a fist in his mouth if he was at all inclined to leave his charge’s side. He wasn’t, though, which was a damn good thing for Prompto. Instead, the Shield watched him stammer and attempt to explain himself when he had no idea what he was supposed to say. How did he explain what even  _ he _ didn’t understand?

Not that it made a difference: when he got bored of Prompto’s lack of any useful insight, Gladiolus turned away from him to examine Noctis once again. Their distress didn’t seem to matter to him, and if he could hear their voices, he was doing a really good job of hiding it.

Somehow, Prompto didn’t think that was the case. It would have been a lot easier if it was, if the prince was just playing a prank on them and jumped up to laugh in their faces. Gladiolus would have killed him, of course; he would have done what Prompto hadn’t been able to bring himself to when Noctis appeared so out of sorts in their match. Ignis, wherever he was, would have tended his black eye and probably reprimanded both of them for their irresponsible behavior and all that.

That wasn’t going to happen. Noctis didn’t open his eyes or chuckle at his own joke on them. He didn’t wave Gladiolus off and tell him he was fine. He didn’t stand up, didn’t walk off the embarrassment of having technically lost to Prompto. He merely lay there, his face paler than usual against the backdrop of his black hair and his chest moving with each shallow breath in and out.

And in that instant, Prompto realized that he was looking at exactly what he had been sent here to do. This wasn’t a scene of regretful weakness, nor was it an image he was meant to feel as bad about as he did. It should have been a shining moment, a preview of what he would witness if his mission went well. He wasn’t supposed to blurt out nicknames and catch the guy he was meant to kill, just like he wasn’t supposed to be worried that he wasn’t going to be okay when whatever this was passed. Prompto shouldn’t have mutely stood there with his remorse for something he hadn’t done pooling around his feet while Gladiolus hooked his arms under Noctis’s knees and back, gathering him against his chest and spiriting him out of the training room with barely another glance in Prompto’s direction. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t his  _ mission _ .

But it was there regardless.

So was the Crownsguard operative that had escorted him down here. He didn’t say a word as he poked his head inside and gestured for Prompto to follow him—where, he had no idea. For half a second, the voice in the back of his head told him that this was it, that he was going to be locked up before he’d gotten a chance to actually earn the cell they’d throw him in. His assignment would remain unfinished, and that Drautos guy would probably have his food poisoned so that he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was really here for if they decided to interrogate him. Another assassin would be sent, and this whole thing would start over again, this time without him.

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to care all that much one way or another, but he did manage to breathe a sigh of relief when they stepped into the elevator and his guide hit the button he had come to recognize as the floor where his room was. Neither of them said a word, the only sound around them the smoothly shifting gears of the lift as it carried them upward and their footsteps against the marble floors when they arrived at their destination. Then, almost impossibly, Prompto was left alone in his borrowed chambers with the mess he was going to call his thoughts for now.

They were certainly scrambled, that much was certain. Prompto didn’t really pay attention to what he was doing as he went through the motions of changing out of his training gear—the gear that Noctis had bought him just yesterday—and stepping into the shower. This time, there was no joy to be found in watching the different colors of soap swirl around the drain; he didn’t pause to lavish in the feeling of the shampoo as he scrubbed the sweat from his hair. Prompto wasn’t supposed to enjoy this, had  _ never _ been meant to enjoy this. That wasn’t why he had come here, and with the prince sick or hurt or whatever, he couldn’t seem to find the same enthusiasm for the luxuries of Lucian life that he had before. His movements were perfunctory and purposeful, focused on getting clean and dressing as quickly as he possibly could. Under different circumstances, he would have thought he was back in the barracks, scrambling to finish his daily hygiene rituals before Loqi showed up to tell him he stank.

These weren’t different circumstances, however, and he wasn’t in the barracks. He was in Insomnia, slipping into a pair of jeans that Gladiolus’s little sister had picked out for him and sliding a wristband the Shield had suggested onto his arm. He was in the Citadel, perching on the edge of the bed he’d fallen off of when he’d first met Ignis and wondering what the hell was wrong with the prince he was supposed to kill.

Regardless of what had actually happened, he could honestly say that it wasn’t his fault, not this time. Not one of his thrusts or parries had met their target—he had been careful about that. With the prince’s Shield scrutinizing his every move, it hadn’t been prudent to take a shot at Noctis the way he probably could have if they hadn’t blindsided him with this sparring session. It was one thing to take advantage of a vulnerable opening when there would be no chance of someone stopping him and another to out himself in a setting where he wouldn’t be able to accomplish his goal first.

Yeah, that was it. It was all logistics: if he’d made his move then, he would have failed. He would have been executed, and the king would know that the emperor was after his son’s life. He’d done the smart thing. He’d done the  _ right _ thing.

Then why did he feel so strange about it?

 

***

 

“Hey, it’s me again. Check your damn messages, will ya?”

Gladio disconnected the call and flung his cell phone onto Noct’s bed beside his charge, running his hands over his face in mingled irritation and concern. He’d known that Ignis had meetings to attend today—when didn’t he? That being said, it was fairly optimistic to expect him to check his phone when he probably had a bunch of council members and other retainers breathing down his neck. Even if he figured Ignis could at least step out for a minute when the device started going haywire in his pocket, impressions  _ were _ kind of important when you were in his line of work. For Gladio, it was a hell of a lot easier: he was the prince’s Shield whether people liked him or not. Their opinions didn’t matter so long as he kept Noct safe.

That was something he wasn’t doing so hot with today, apparently.

He’d spent the last hour trying to figure out what had gone wrong with no answers forthcoming. It definitely wasn’t Noct’s day when it came to fighting: Prompto had bested him in nearly every exchange, although the Niff had been courteous enough not to embarrass him by defeating him entirely. That earned him a few grudging points in Gladio’s book, especially when Noct had left so many openings that a five-year-old should have been able to take him out with ease. At first, he’d thought it was just an act, that Noct was going along with the plan as they’d discussed. Maybe he’d been overacting a bit, but there hadn’t been any reason to shut things down early when it could potentially work in their favor.

Then his charge had fallen with no visible provocation, and it felt like the entire world ground to a halt. As much as he wanted to blame Prompto for it, there simply wasn’t any evidence to make it a possibility. Noct didn’t have a scratch on him; the Niff had pulled almost every punch, so there was no real damage to be found. His pulse was normal, and his breathing was even. If Gladio didn’t know any better, he would have said Noct had merely fallen asleep in the middle of the fight--if anyone could do it,  _ he _ could.

Gladio  _ did _ know better, however, and Noct hadn’t so much as twitched since he’d carried him up here. At this point, Gladio was beginning to think enough was enough: he hadn’t told anyone what had happened yet, but he might have to soon. There was only so long that he could keep Noct’s...whatever it was a secret.

It wasn’t often that Gladio let hopelessness get the better of him, yet he was treading pretty damn close to the edge as he vacillated between calling the king and waiting just a little longer. So far, he’d judged everything wrong. Maybe Prompto was cleverer than he’d imagined, but he doubted it. He’d had the perfect opportunity to snap Noct’s neck and hadn’t taken it. Instead, he’d tried to help. Instead, he had propped Noct up until Gladio had gotten there and hadn’t made one move to do either of them any harm, whether during or after their impromptu sparring. There hadn’t been any trickery in his eyes, no insincere platitudes about how he didn’t know what was going on and hoped Noct got better soon. No, all Gladio had seen was the same stupid earnestness that seemed to follow that kid everywhere he went.

The earnestness that had won Noct over despite all of Gladio’s warnings.

_ Great. Some Shield I turned out to be _ , he sighed to himself, leaning his elbows on the edge of the mattress and dropping his head into his hands. He’d gotten the Niff all wrong  _ and _ hadn’t been able to protect Noct from…whatever was wrong with him. It was starting to look like his father’s faith in him and his ability to hold up in this trial by fire was misplaced. 

A shift of weight on the bed dragged Gladio out of his personal pity party, and his neck spasmed painfully when he jerked his gaze up to see Noct maneuvering himself into a sitting position. There were no words for the relief that spread from his chest to all of his extremities as he watched his charge squint around the room in pure, unveiled confusion. 

Then his eyes fell on Gladio and he froze, hesitantly opening his mouth like he wasn’t sure what to say. That made two of them, at least. 

“I...uh… How long have I been out?” Noct asked after a long moment. 

At the sound of his voice, something inside Gladio snapped. The sympathy he’d been feeling for himself vanished, and in that instant, it was like tunnel-vision set in. He was a Shield—shitty or otherwise. His charge was awake.

Triage. He needed to keep his mind on triage.

“Long enough,” he grunted, lightly pushing Noct’s shoulder. “Now lie down. You feelin’ any pain? Stiffness? Where’d you get hit?”

“Hit?” Noct echoed, brushing Gladio’s hand aside with a pensive frown. At first, he assumed the damage had to be worse than he’d thought if Noct couldn’t remember what had happened, then the latter shook his head as the implication struck him. “I didn’t get hit, I just… This morning...”

Oh, yeah. He’d definitely taken a blow too hard, all right. That was the only possible explanation for what had laid him out like that and his inability to come up with even some sarcastic response now. Disorientation? Not a good sign. The fact that his color had mostly returned to normal didn’t ease Gladio’s concern, and he surveyed Noct closely while the latter ran a hand through his hair and composed himself. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize that  _ composing himself _ meant thinking up a damn good excuse.

“I wasn’t feeling right this morning, so I skipped breakfast. Guess I got dizzy with all that moving around. One minute, I was going in for an attack, and the next… Well, anyway, it wasn’t Prompto’s fault.” Shooting Gladio a sidelong glance, Noct didn’t waste a second in shrewdly alleging, “You totally blamed him, didn’t you?”

Huffing in equal parts amusement and disbelief, Gladio confirmed, “Hell yeah, I did. What else was I supposed to think?”

After all, they were training. People got hurt in practice all the time; it didn’t matter how careful you were. Shit happened and you moved on.

Unless you ended up on your ass with no provocation. Gladio wasn’t an idiot, which meant he didn’t buy that crap about not eating for a second. Ignis couldn’t control Noct’s behavior any more than he could, but his mother-hen instincts would be tingling if their shared charge tried to pull something like that, especially before a session. No, whatever had happened, Noct was covering up. Whether it was to save face or hide something, Gladio had no clue. It was just like when he was a kid and told that dumb story to keep Iris out of trouble, only it didn’t make Gladio feel any better in this particular situation.

Then again, Noct wasn’t alone in fibbing to protect someone else lately. Hadn’t the Niff done the same thing so he wouldn’t lose his shit over Iris being in the guy’s room?

_ Why the hell is she always in the middle of everything? _

Well, she wasn’t in this instance, but Noct was apparently no closer to telling him what was up than he was to becoming the First Secretary of Accordo. That was fine—they didn’t need to get into it right now, much as Gladio wanted to press the issue.

That was what Ignis was for.

So, humming skeptically under his breath, Gladio merely lilted, “Maybe if you weren’t feeling so hot, you should’a said somethin’ instead of making it look like the Niff took you down. Didn’t make for a pretty picture.”

Avoiding his gaze, Noct motioned absently towards him and bullshitted, “I figured you’d think I was making excuses because I didn’t want to fight him.”

_ You figured right _ , Gladio admitted to himself. Noct wasn’t the best liar; he had too many indicators, like the way he’d retreat into himself and scratch nervously at the back of his neck. Of course, he did the same thing around new people when he wasn’t protected by a royal setting that forced him to straighten up, but the point stood. A convenient illness would have been a little  _ too _ convenient in this case.

Even so, he  _ had _ been sick the last few days, according to Ignis. Gladio had been more of the mind that he was either moping or simply seeing a return on his late nights for a change. That didn’t seem so likely anymore, but that also wasn’t why Gladio’s insides were twisting in poorly contained chagrin.

“What I would’ve thought doesn’t mean a damn thing,” he growled, only just managing not to knock Noct right back onto the mattress. The struggle was real, though, so he paced angrily towards the window to put some distance between them. “You know better than to pull shit like that. You go out there when you’re not feelin’ up to it, and somebody’s gonna get hurt—probably  _ you _ .”

“I’m  _ fine _ , though. He didn’t take the opening— _ any _ of them,” Noct huffed, his own frustration seeping into his voice even as he downplayed what Gladio thought was anything but ordinary. That was probably why he didn’t seem to think before stupidly blurting out, “Wasn’t that the point of this? If he  _ had _ taken a stupid opening, I could have gotten hurt anyway.”

He didn’t say that Gladio would have been right if that had happened, but it was obviously implied. As if that was even the point of the conversation right now. 

It was an obvious ploy to get him off track, to distract him from what really mattered with talk of his opinions on Prompto’s inaction, but he wasn’t about to let Noct win. Gladio wasn’t Ignis; he couldn’t navigate a discussion with the kind of ease that would get him what he wanted while making everyone else look like a total moron. In this conversation, though, he was determined to hold his own if Noct was going to pretend to be as thick-headed as he was.

“You already know that wouldn’t have happened,” he countered with a scathing glare at his charge. “The  _ point _ was that he would go in for the shot and  _ you  _ would be in a position to defend yourself. Instead, you went out there knowing that if he  _ did _ try something, you couldn’t block it. That wasn’t part of the plan— _ that _ was just plain stupid. You think I’d send you in there if you were just gonna get yourself hurt or worse?”

That last bit wasn’t supposed to slip out, but hey, Gladio was nearly past caring. They weren’t talking about emotions, not really, and he’d be damned if Noct thought his own Shield was willing to use him as bait without the utter certainty that he could handle it. Nuh uh. Wasn’t gonna happen, not in this lifetime or any other.

His own resolve wasn’t enough to affect his charge, though, at least not in any significant way. Noct’s shoulders were hunched tightly, and if his silence was any indication, Gladio could assume he won that round. Still, it was a bit of a hollow victory if it meant Noct believed that his own Shield was capable of that level of negligence. What else was Gladio supposed to think when the sardonic glower he received once Noct gathered whatever passed for his senses these days shifted back to him as though Gladio had somehow confirmed his suspicions instead of the other way around? 

“You just wanted to get your dumb answer,” he muttered, flippant but with an underlying tone that Gladio couldn’t define as anything other than straight-up  _ nasty. _ He tried to take his charge’s frustration and obvious condition into account, but it was tougher than anticipated when the latter continued, “I thought I’d be able to handle it. Wouldn’t want to piss you off by saying I couldn’t.” 

_ So much for gathering those senses.  _

But Noct wasn’t done. Oh, no. He was on a roll now.

“ _Y_ _ ou _ could have called it,” Noct snorted with a sneer as if he thought he was gaining the upper hand here. “He kept looking to  _ you _ . Seems like he was waiting for  _ you _ to do it, but you’re just going to blame  _ him _ for it, right?”

For a minute that stretched on for an eternity, Gladio couldn’t say a word. Hell, he was having a hard enough time just standing there staring at Noct where his charge was smugly leaned against his pillows, claiming a victory that left Gladio even emptier than before. He probably should have felt angry, should have raged that he couldn’t exactly call something when he didn’t know anything was wrong. For all he knew, Noct was simply  _ that  _ bad an actor—it would match his less than impeccable lying skills.

He wasn’t lying now, though. He wasn’t uttering falsehoods and excuses that Gladio could see through as easy as breathing. It was clear as day: he believed every word he said, and if he didn’t, then he was sure as shit trying to. Noct truly appeared to  _ want _ to believe his Shield was at fault, the Niff had taken the moral high ground, and everything would have been fine.

If not for Gladio.

And yeah, that stung. A Shield’s duty was to give up their life for their liege, forsaking all others if it came to it. In the event that someone had a gun to Iris’s and Noct’s heads, forcing him to choose, he’d be attending his sister’s funeral. In the event that the Citadel burned to the ground and there were countless people he  _ could _ help, there would be a path of charred bodies leading out of the building to wherever he managed to evacuate Noct. If some bully in a bar went after his charge with a knife, it was his own face he’d be patching up later. 

Scars riddled his body and mind, lost opportunities plagued every memory of his past, all so that he could protect Noct.

Noct, who used to be grateful, even if he usually played it off like a joke.

Noct, who used to trust his advice, even if he’d never admit to taking it.

Noct, who was sitting in that bed telling Gladio exactly what he’d already been assuming: that he wasn’t good enough. That some Niff he’d just met, that was staying with them because of necessity and not choice, was better.

It really wasn’t any wonder he had nothing to say when he reached for words. After all, how did you respond to something like that?

So, he didn’t. Gladio merely shook his head in disgusted silence, wanting to say any number of things and knowing not a damn one would do any good. 

Lucky for him, the master of words just so happened to have been listening in. 

“Well, I should think this discussion has gone on long enough,” Ignis interjected from the doorway, arms folded and expression stony. Gladio didn’t need to be as smart as him to hear how he was using the term  _ discussion _ pretty loosely. 

It was a testament to how distracted Gladio had been with this crap that he hadn’t noticed him enter Noct’s chambers, not that he was complaining. Call him crazy, but he thought it was better to have someone else speak for him at this point. Nothing Gladio said penetrated that thick skull of Noct’s, so maybe his advisor would have a better shot. It couldn’t hurt, anyway.

The surprising part of his appearance wasn’t so much that they hadn’t noticed, though. No, there was a distinct iciness in his gaze that spoke volumes of how much he’d overheard. Instead of rounding on Gladio the way he tended to before dealing with Noct, however, the latter absorbed his attention. And he didn’t look happy about it.

_ Good. _

“How long have you been there?” inquired Noct tentatively. At least he had the good sense to sound embarrassed; the self-satisfied smirk he had been wearing moments ago instantly vanished. It was always a wonder and a miracle, how Ignis’s stern disappointment could stop Noct in his tracks. 

“Long enough to hear your rather thankless retort,” Ignis deadpanned, not filtering his thoughts for a change. Crossing the room to stand near Gladio in what he figured was supposed to be solidarity, he didn’t falter once as he scolded, “Are you honestly so willing to protect the interests of this foreign captain that you would gladly spurn the concern of your own retainers?”

Damn,  _ that _ one shook Noct from his deflated silence. He furrowed his brows in an obvious attempt to make sense of Ignis’s accusation at the same time as he argued, “What? No! That’s not it at all! But it wasn’t Prompto’s fault either. Am I just supposed to let you blame him?”

“I did not hear anyone assigning blame but you, in which case, you’re saying it is Gladio’s fault?”

Noct hesitated, his mouth slightly agape as the point Ignis was trying to make hit home a lot quicker than anticipated. 

_ Well, what do you know? He’s not that stupid, after all.  _

“No. I’m not,” he murmured, firm in spite of his obvious reluctance.

That must have satisfied Ignis’s apology requirements, because he didn’t press the issue. Rather, he traded his hard exterior for something a little gentler when he continued, “Noct, we are all in agreement that deciphering the empire’s purpose in leaving Prompto here is a daunting task riddled with inconsistencies. Even so, you cannot forget that it is our duty to aid you and help you bear that burden, whether you like our methods or not.”

“I know that, but I—”

Ignis held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t finished, silencing Noct once again. “While it’s hardly surprising to find you and Gladio at odds, it is  _ very _ unlike you to lash out and brandish accusations you know to be false. It leads me to wonder whether this budding friendship of yours is the cause."

There was something underneath all the fancy words and bluster that couldn’t be ignored, not when it was the exact same concern Gladio had been fostering since Noct woke up—before that, if he was being honest. He couldn’t quite figure out what to call it, yet there was one thing he knew without a doubt: the Niff was the reason. Maybe he didn’t mean to or maybe he did; that part didn’t matter. What  _ did _ was that he and Ignis were getting left in the dust because of him, intentions notwithstanding. That was all well and good for normal friends, but Gladio wasn’t about to let it happen. Not here, not now, not with Noct.

This time, there were no arguments. There was no scoffing or sarcastic retort. There was just Noct, staring up at the two of them with a confused crease between his eyebrows. 

“You think I like him better?” he asked in hushed disbelief.

_ Ugh, not going there. _

They were already edging a little close to the mushy stuff for Gladio’s taste; that would be a step too far. If he was going to deal with whatever it was that plucked at his nerves whenever Prompto was around Noct, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be here or anywhere there might be an audience. No thanks.

So, rather than respond the way he knew Ignis would have praised him for, Gladio turned away to stare out the window and muttered, “I’m less worried about that and more worried about what the hell  _ really  _ happened today.”

There. Effectively avoided. And Ignis said he didn’t have a way with words.

“It was my fault,” Noct responded without hesitation this time, shrugging a shoulder. “Okay, yeah--I should have said something. But I was fine the past few days, so I figured I was good to do Gladio’s test. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Before Gladio had a chance to use more of his words, Ignis chimed in, “That’s understandable.”

_ He’s gotta be kidding. _

It wasn’t. It wasn’t even  _ remotely _ understandable. Gladio had been teaching him how to fight for eight years. Yes, a lot of that was spent with his charge glaring while he attempted unsuccessfully to beat a few lessons into his head, but the fact remained that this wasn’t new. Noct was skilled; he was knowledgeable. He was better than this crap, whether he wanted to prove a point or not. 

“But that still doesn’t explain what happened,” Ignis gently added with a firmness belying his tone that usually got Noct’s attention when he was being too hard-headed.

This time was no different, and Noct let out an exasperated sigh. With nothing else to hide behind and Ignis here to pick apart whatever stupid story he managed to concoct, he didn’t have much choice but to go with the truth. Hopefully.

And boy, was it a doozy.

Shifting awkwardly, Noct chewed on his words for a moment before he tentatively began, “So… Maybe it’s something else.” 

“Clearly,” intoned Ignis pointedly. Noctis rolled his eyes but didn’t attempt to evade him again.

“Before the negotiations ended, that day you caught me eavesdropping on my dad,” he clarified, nodding to Gladio. “When I met with him, I asked him to let me see if the Astrals would help us. Figured better me than him in case the emperor noticed something.”

...Well, that definitely wasn’t what Gladio had in mind. Of course, he didn’t quite know  _ what _ to expect anymore when it came to Noct. He wouldn’t have thought that he would take kindly to hanging out with a Niff let alone actually befriend the guy, especially considering the circumstances. That was neither here nor there for now, though: if he had gone to see the Six, or whichever of them happened to be hanging out in the Crystal, then that was a pretty big deal. According to his dad, not even the king himself talked to the Astrals a whole lot. They were a quiet bunch, uninterested in being bothered unless it was absolutely necessary. Given that they’d granted their power to a living king, there wasn’t much reason for them to be dragged into any worldly affairs. 

Leave it to Noct to go poking the damn gods.

“And?” prompted Gladio when he didn’t offer any more than that. “What’d they say?” 

“Real fancy version of no,” he grumbled, shoulders sagging in defeat while his eyes narrowed at the memory. 

_ Figures. _

“That  _ is  _ unfortunate, but one can hardly expect the Astrals to dally in the affairs of mortals,” Ignis observed, although there was a distinct note of disappointment in his tone as well. “In any case, how exactly does this correlate with your episode in the training room?"

Flinching, Noct ducked his head as though that was going to save him from Ignis when he was on a fact-finding mission. It never did, but apparently Noct wasn’t too keen on admitting exactly what he had done during his first ever visit to the Crystal regardless. It took a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and pointed stares before he finally confessed, “Yeah, I...might not have taken the rejection as well as you would have, Specs.” 

_...Oh, boy. Here we go. _

“Noct, you  _ didn’t _ ,” Ignis groaned, as horrified as Gladio was by the possibility of just how undiplomatic their future king had been in addressing the god that had met him on their turf. “What did you say?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Noct hedged, giving Gladio the impression that he definitely did but had enough sense to not repeat his inconvenient insults to Ignis. Good--so he  _ had _ retained something Gladio taught him. “It was basically just that, with all my family has done for them, the  _ least _ they could do is help us out a little.”

Yeah, that sounded like something Noct would say. Sort of. Gladio didn’t doubt for a second that it had come out a hell of a lot snarkier than that.  

“Noct,” Ignis chastised him sternly, shaking his head. That seemed to be the best he could come up with, because any advice on what he should have done instead was noticeably absent. It was pretty bad when even Ignis didn’t have a decent comeback. 

“Well, it’s true!” Noct rejoined heatedly.

Snorting, Gladio leaned against the windowsill and mused, “Pretty sure it being  _ true _ probably didn’t earn you any points with the Six.”

“Not so much. The Draconian didn’t like it and tossed me out. I’ve been kinda off my game ever since.”

That was putting it mildly. Gladio knew what Noct looked like when he was off his game: distracted, put out, easily frustrated. Yeah, he’d been all those things for the last few days since he’d seen the king, but it went much deeper than that. No matter how off his game Noct was, he didn’t take to lashing out at people and falling asleep on public benches where anyone could snap a picture to throw on the internet somewhere. He was lazy as hell, but he wasn’t  _ that _ bad. Most days, at least.

_ Not the important part here. _

No, it really wasn’t. 

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Gladio cut in before Noct could continue, eyes narrowed as he surveyed his charge for the tiniest sign that he was lying. He hated that he had to, yet it was becoming a  _ thing _ lately--one that they couldn’t overlook. “You go talk your dad into chatting up the Astrals. They tell you to pound sand. You get smart, and they toss you out on your ass faster than you can say  _ my bad _ . Why the hell didn’t you tell us sooner? Could’ve avoided all this.” 

A few seconds passed where all Noct seemed capable of doing was picking absently at the corner of his pillow, his lips quirked to the side in thought. It sent up a few alarm bells in Gladio’s head, but when Noct raised his gaze to answer, he was relieved to see that there wasn’t a hint of anything but earnestness when he admitted, “I just didn’t want to tell my dad. I already disappointed him enough by not getting their help. Didn’t need him to know  _ that  _ too. Figuring out the whole Prompto thing was all I had left if I was gonna do something useful for him,” he added with a shrug that made it  _ look _ like he cared a lot less than he did.

As far as Gladio was concerned, he could keep up whatever pretenses he liked there. Between the two of them, they had plenty of parental issues to last them a lifetime. That wasn’t one of the things he’d been trained to help with, nor did he think he’d be all that good at it anyway. It was more Ignis’s area of expertise, although he was still so obviously appalled at the notion of Noct sassing an Astral that he was having some trouble forming the words. Ah, well. Couldn’t win them all. 

And it looked like the battle over whatever the hell Prompto was supposed to be counted amongst his losses, if it could be called that. Gladio wasn’t ready to say that he didn’t have ulterior motives just yet, but... Well, they’d passed a few major signs along this road, and he wasn’t stupid enough to write them off entirely. Regardless of his unassuming demeanor and borderline dipshit tendencies, there was no denying that Prompto seemed a lot more harmless than Gladio would have expected of someone else, like his commander. They’d given him plenty of opportunities to pounce; now that the envoys were gone, he had no reason to hold back. Noct had been at his mercy--unconscious and literally in his hands. 

He hadn’t done a thing. That had to count for something, however grudgingly. 

It wasn’t often that Gladio was willing to admit defeat, though, so he definitely wasn’t about to now. He didn’t have to be wrong to acknowledge that there _might_ _possibly_ be a _small_ chance that the kid wasn’t as bad as they’d thought. _Maybe_. 

That was why, while there were any number of sarcastic remarks he would have liked to make in response, Gladio didn’t bother with any of them. Instead, he huffed something that would have been a laugh if he wasn’t about to say what he was and smirked at Noct in what would have been apology if  _ he _ had been the one at fault here. 

Which he wasn’t. At all. 

“I have a feeling King Regis would probably be more interested in what’s gotten into  _ you _ than that bunny rabbit of a Niff,” he deadpanned. 

“Which is why we’re not going to tell him,” Noct ordered. It wasn’t the most intimidating sight. “He’s got enough crap to worry about without me adding to it.”

That snapped Ignis out of his stupor. At least he had the decency to look slightly abashed when he confessed, “Well, that’s unfortunate, as I’ve already spoken to His Majesty with regards to the situation.”

The color drained from Noct’s face again when he turned to his advisor and almost comically echoed, “You didn’t.”

“You think I  _ wouldn’t _ after five missed calls and several texts with increasingly befuddling grammar?”

_ Okay. Didn’t have to go there. _

Noct  was kind enough to ignore that embarrassing statistic, even if Gladio knew better than to assume that it wouldn't come back to bite him eventually, and groaned as he buried his face in his pillow. From the depths of his makeshift hiding place came his unappreciative grumble: “Thanks, Specs.”

True to form, Ignis was unaffected by Noct’s sarcasm. “A little honesty with your family and friends will do you some good.”

Admittedly, that was a nice touch, and it didn’t come a moment too soon. Gladio might have missed Ignis’s entrance, but there was no mistaking the sound of the door to Noct’s chambers opening and the telltale tapping of a cane approaching the room. There was no time to hide, no time to make themselves more presentable, before the king was barging into the chamber looking like he had run all the way here. 

Which was their cue to get the hell out. He could already see the mushy stuff on the horizon; it was obvious in the way King Regis’s eyes scanned Noct for injuries before any of them could get a word out. Over his shoulder, his own father’s eyes met his in silent inquiry, but Gladio didn’t have anything to give him. Odds were, whatever Ignis had imparted was more than he had--and he’d officially been ordered by his technical liege not to say a word about that godly bitch-slap he’d gotten. So, really, his business was done here. 

But it wasn’t done for the night. 

“Ignis, Gladiolus,” the king addressed them after a moment, inclining his head with a slight smile that didn’t come anywhere near reaching his eyes. “You have my thanks for assisting Noctis today.” 

_ Assisting _ was one word for it. Gladio had about ten others he thought would have been more appropriate; none of them were acceptable in the presence of royalty. 

“The honor is ours, Your Majesty,” he replied instead, earning him a more appreciative if tight nod from the king. 

It didn’t take much to recognize that he wanted them to get lost, yet King Regis was still polite as ever when he hinted, “If you would excuse us, I would like to have a word with my son.” 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ignis immediately agreed. 

Between the two of them, they managed the most awkward genuflections in history as they made a beeline for the door and exited Noct’s chambers, retreating to the corridor outside for good measure. Not once in all the years Gladio had worked at the Citadel had he felt as relieved as he did in that moment, the eyes of their superiors shut behind closed doors and all need to keep up appearances evaporating into thin air. Well, for Gladio anyway: Ignis didn’t slouch and sigh like he did, even if he looked like he desperately wanted to. 

Fortunately, Gladio was more than willing to do it for him as he wearily murmured, “Jeez, what a day.” 

Ignis hummed in agreement in spite of not having been around for the more dramatic stuff. If he had, then today probably would have gone a lot differently. For one thing, there might have been less shouting; for another, Gladio wouldn’t have spent half of it with his tail between his legs. Not that Noct had gotten the upper hand on him--his arguments hadn’t exactly been the most coherent. Considering the lie he’d been trying to get them to buy into, though, that wasn’t too hard to understand. Even so, Ignis would have gotten to the meat of things a hell of a lot faster than he had, that was for sure. 

“Yes, and while I wouldn’t say all matters are resolved entirely, I do believe Noct has a better grasp of the consequences of his recent behavior,” he replied. Contrary to his optimistic statement, however, Ignis frowned towards the door. “You’re  _ sure  _ Prompto didn’t attempt  _ anything  _ during your session today?”

_ If only it were that easy. _

“Nope, not a thing. Actually, he...kinda helped with Noct. A  _ little _ ,” Gladio qualified. He didn’t want to give the kid more credit than he was due, and catching their charge before he hit the ground? It wasn’t like he’d saved a bunch of kids from a burning hospital or anything.

Ignis raised his eyebrows at that, perhaps even more skeptical than Gladio had been. Surprisingly, he didn’t comment, sidestepping the matter to remark, “Well, I suppose I shall inform him of Noct’s present condition and offer our apologies that today’s schedule was cut short, then. Someone ought to, given the circumstances.” 

_ Oh, so  _ that’s _ how it’s gonna be. _

Ignis was giving him the  _ Look _ , the one that said he was well aware that Gladio had done neither of those things. Of course, he was completely right, but Gladio wasn’t going to apologize for not thinking twice about ditching the Niff in the training room. Noct was his priority, first and foremost. Prompto might have caught a bit of the cold shoulder, sure--he’d get over it. After all, he’d allegedly been dealing with it since he was a year old. If he didn’t have thick skin by now, that was his own damn problem.

Apparently, this situation would be Gladio’s. He wasn’t sorry at all for leaving Prompto, no, but he had to admit that it wasn’t Ignis’s place to set the kid straight. Unfortunately, that fell to him. 

Besides, whether he had agreed with Noct or not, there was still one last test the Niff had to pass before Gladio was willing to call them even.

“Don’t bother,” he huffed, waving off Ignis’s offer dismissively as he started towards the elevator. “I’m headin’ in that direction anyway. I’ll let ‘im know.” 

And if he was lucky, Prompto wasn’t the only one who’d gain something from the encounter. 

 

***

 

So far, Noctis’s day had gone straight downhill. From the time he woke up until he woke up  _ again  _ in his room, it was one thing after another. Just when he thought he’d found a way to salvage what was left, it spit in his eye and threw itself right back in the toilet.

All because Ignis had  _ tattled  _ on him. 

He really couldn’t bring himself to be too mad about it, much as he wanted to. It had admittedly been the responsible course of action, considering the situation. Given that Noctis hadn’t exactly been doing the responsible thing for a while now, it was only to be expected that Ignis would take up the slack for him. After all,  _ someone  _ had to. 

Did he really have to tell his dad, though? Couldn’t he have at least checked in and  _ then _ decided if Noctis’s condition warranted royal attention? That would have made things so much easier rather than forcing him to swallow his nerves and paste a totally fake smile on his face as he met his father’s eyes. Grudgingly, Noctis had to say that Ignis probably  _ did  _ have reason to think this was necessary: that many missed calls and messages from Gladio, of all people, would make anyone antsy. 

It didn’t change the fact that Noctis had plenty to worry about without the added benefit of scaring the hell out of his dad. For example, the ridiculous idea that his only friends believed he preferred Prompto over them, which wasn’t true at all. To be honest, he would have thought they were joking if they’d mentioned it any other time. It wasn’t like Gladio to get into that kind of discussion no matter how serious things were, and Ignis usually shrugged off stuff that he knew wasn’t true or important. That they’d let this bother them when there were so many other problems on their plates? It was unreal. 

And made him feel like a total jackass.

Fine, he didn’t  _ hate  _ the guy like he had expected to when Niflheim first dropped him in their laps, but it was beyond idiotic to think that he’d value Prompto over them. Maybe he could be a friend or, at the very least, an ally. That was the plan, anyway. Ignis and Gladio, however? They were on a different level, one that Prompto wouldn’t be able to reach purely on the basis of what he’d suffered at the empire’s hands and his seeming lack of negative intentions. 

That was nevertheless a level he needed to ascend to if Noctis’s plans for the future were going to pan out. Should they successfully topple Niflheim, there would be a lot of rebuilding to do, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend from the (hopefully) former empire to speed their efforts along. If all went like it was supposed to, Noctis wouldn’t be around to help them himself. They would require all the aid they could get--his dad certainly would when Noctis wasn’t there to provide it anymore. 

That was a problem he’d have to resolve later, though, as was his apparent neglect for his friends’ feelings. For the moment, he had his father to contend with while he was still capable of setting his mind at ease. Noctis had hoped he would be able to keep the lies at a minimum now that he’d made up that story for Ignis and Gladio, but it was obvious he’d have to skirt closer to the truth a bit more. His father wasn’t like his friends: while they weren’t familiar with the inner workings of the Crystal and its inhabitants, his dad  _ was _ . One wrong step could blow his cover entirely, and that wasn’t going to cut it. As such, this was a conversation best diverted sooner rather than later. 

Noctis waited until the door clicked shut behind Ignis and Gladio, shutting both them and Clarus outside, before he sat up straight to make some room at his father’s gentle prodding. Rubbing the onset of a headache from his forehead, he offered his dad a sheepish smile and an apologetic, “You didn’t have to come down here. I don’t know what Ignis told you, but I’m fine. Really.”

His father’s gaze was shrewd when he lowered himself to sit on the mattress beside him, but he didn’t call his bluff outright. He’d been king too long to point out when people were full of shit, especially if he wasn’t sure what they were actually trying to say. No, Noctis knew how this was going to go: he would try to gather what information he could before he told Noctis what a liar he was--if he didn’t play it safe, anyway. Admittedly, he hadn’t been doing such a great job of that lately; he hadn’t even realized it until Ignis pointed it out earlier. That in itself was an issue, and he needed to up his game if his friends could tell he was full of it when he thought he was performing at his best. It might work for a little while, primarily if they wanted to wait to see what he would do, but he couldn’t play that game forever. Something would have to give, and when his dad was thrown into the mix, he knew it was only a matter of time before his house of cards came toppling down. 

That day wasn’t today, though. His dad didn’t order him to be honest about what had happened at training; he didn’t tell him that he was going to talk to Bahamut and find out what he did. Rather, he leaned his cane against the bedside table and took one of Noctis’s hands in his with a gentle smile that belied the tense set of his jaw. 

“I was not given to believe that you were at death’s threshold,” he assured him, his grin turning more sardonic, “but I have heard enough to know that you are not as well as you claim. How are you feeling in  _ truth _ ?” 

“Better,” he answered without pause. 

That part, he could be one hundred percent honest about. After his impromptu nap, he definitely felt better than he had before, not that that was saying much. Unfortunately, just that on its own wouldn’t get his dad off his back, so Noctis knew he’d have to offer up some sort of explanation. 

Pasting a halfhearted grin on his face, he added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you guys or anything. I just got kinda stressed out and overwhelmed. Guess I blacked out for a bit.” 

_ A bit _ was putting it mildly; so was the idea that he was only  _ kind of _ stressed out and overwhelmed. Having the power of the gods coursing through his veins upped the ante when it came to his emotions and their effect on his general well-being. Doing everything he could to hide it wasn’t enough anymore, it seemed--not if he was going to start collapsing all over the place when he should have been good to go. 

In spite of his best efforts, it didn’t look like he was fooling his father either. His expression was solemn, and he was searching Noctis’s face as though he was trying to find something that Noctis really hoped wasn’t there. 

Whether it was or not made no difference: after an interminable moment, his dad was forced to admit defeat. That or he had something else in mind, which was always possible. Unlike Noctis, he  _ had _ perfected the art of keeping his poker face in check.

Which was why Noctis couldn’t gather a damn thing from the even, unaffected way he suggested, “Perhaps you have borne too great a burden with showing the captain around the city. It may do you well to spend some time without the empire’s scrutiny upon you.” 

Noctis shook his head with a frown. That was the opposite of what he wanted right now. If he was hoping to gain Prompto’s support, pushing him away wasn’t going to help matters. Plus, after today’s eventful session in training, Noctis knew he owed him at least some sort of explanation. It was the only courteous thing to do, and given that he had already vanished for a few days with barely a word from his retainers, he figured he shouldn’t pull that move again. 

“No, it’s cool. I mean, as long as we’re just hanging out, it’s actually enjoyable,” Noctis declined, shooting his father another tentative yet grateful grin before he made a suggestion of his own. “If you’re looking to get me some relaxation, maybe we can cut training out of the schedule for a while.”

That one had his father chuckling, and he shook his head in amusement as he wryly observed, “I might be mistaken, yet I believe that Gladiolus will be averse to the idea.” 

Well, yeah, he had a point there. Noctis hadn’t collapsed in quite the same way before, but Gladio wasn’t one to cut him slack  _ period _ . They’d trained when he was sick, when he had exams to study for--hell, they’d met up to go a few rounds an hour before his graduation from school. If there was one thing that could be said for his Shield, it was that he was pretty damn steadfast when he wanted to be. 

_ Too bad. _

“If it is a matter of relaxation,” his dad evaded, pushing them in a direction Noctis hadn’t considered, “then we can have Ignis prune a few events from your schedule until you are back on your feet. Your community outreach project tomorrow, for exa--”

“Definitely not that,” Noctis interrupted before he could think better of it. He hastily ducked his head afterwards in embarrassment: while he hadn’t meant to be rude, this was one event that he was unwilling to sacrifice no matter how terrible he felt. 

He didn’t expect his father to understand that, even if he had a feeling he got the basic gist. It wasn’t often that Noctis was able to slot these projects into his agenda, and this one had been in the works for months. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he had been really looking forward to it. The plan was admittedly nothing special: taking school children, particularly from the refugee sectors, to the aquarium in the middle of the city. Simple yet fun--what wasn’t to love? Going there was almost as good as going fishing. 

Almost. 

“That is,” he amended, “we’ve put a lot of work and time into it, and all those kids are looking forward to going. I can’t just cancel on them.”

His father held up a hand, a gentle smile quirking his lips to the side and something tremendously  _ proud _ shimmering in his eyes. Noctis wasn’t sure why--this wasn’t exactly thorough negotiations or an international summit, after all--but he was good with basking in it for a moment. 

“Very well. I understand your reluctance.”

_ Good. _

He wasn’t done, though. That would be too easy. 

“Afterward, I will be speaking to Ignis about lightening your load for the time being. It is not that I believe you are incapable of managing the affairs you have admirably undertaken,” he hurried to reassure him when Noctis opened his mouth to disagree. “There is simply a time when all of us must admit that we are spread a mite too thin. Knowing one’s weaknesses is as much a necessity for a monarch as testing them, and you have done more than enough of the latter to last awhile yet.” 

Noctis wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Sure, being able to put off some of his responsibilities might be helpful; at the same time, it wasn’t as if his dad was ever afforded a reprieve. For now, however, he wouldn’t argue there were other things to think about. Besides, if everything worked out the way he hoped, then his dad might get that time off. It was worth a shot, anyway. 

“Yeah, okay, if you say so,” he conceded, averting his gaze briefly until he thought of the words to address his next concern. “Look, about tomorrow... I wanted to bring Prompto along. It could be good to let him see actual people who’ve been affected by the war and all that.”

“I think that is a splendid idea.”

So did Noctis. The only problem was that, after what Gladio and Ignis had said earlier, he couldn’t help but worry that this would simply endanger his relationship with them further. He hadn’t meant to in the first place, but then again, there were plenty of things that had gone wrong lately without him lifting a finger. Of all the others, this was one sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make. He wanted his friends there with him. Until the end. 

“Thing is, I don’t think the guys really like the idea.” Better to be vague about their distaste than pick at that one. 

His father nodded slowly, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought. When he did answer, it wasn’t with the firm response Noctis had admittedly been hoping for. Instead, he did what was increasingly becoming a habit lately: let  _ Noctis _ take the reins. 

“Your friends have your best interests at heart,” he ventured deliberately. “I would not discount their advice, but remember that it is your duty to choose your own course, whether they approve of it or not.”

“And if they feel…” Noctis trailed off, unable to locate the right word for what he was thinking. 

He didn’t need to finish for his father to predict with a knowing look, “Alienated?”

_ Figures. _

“So long as you include them and do not allow your differences of opinion to form a barrier between you, I see no reason why that should be a problem. They care deeply for you, Noctis,” his dad reminded him, gentle but steadfast. “They will not be parted from your side so easily as that.” 

“I don’t want them to be,” Noctis answered earnestly. “I just… Well, Prompto’s not actually all that bad, you know? Niff thing aside, I was hoping we could all...get along...” 

He trailed off, feeling kind of silly but forcing himself to continue nevertheless. This wasn’t really his dad’s problem, nor was it something Noctis would be able to force on the parties involved. Airing his thoughts, however, seemed to help ease the weight of his insecurities. His father allegedly wanted that, right? 

“I guess...” he ventured with an uncertain shrug, looking to his dad for approval. “I guess I could see what happens tomorrow. Maybe try to push them all together?” 

Noctis had to swallow his sigh of relief when his father nodded, the latter assuring him, “If that is indeed your wish, then I am confident you will see it done, my son.” 

_ Well, that makes one of us. _

It made all the difference, though. It gave him just enough courage to agree, at least for the time being. Tomorrow might be a turning point in his endeavors to get them one step closer to peace, or Gladio might decapitate Prompto and get them banned from the aquarium for leaving a disembodied head floating in one of the tanks. It was a toss-up, really. 

Either way, getting the guys to mingle on good terms with Prompto  _ and  _ keep a whole group of kids entertained? That wouldn’t be hard  _ at all _ . 


	12. Treading Water

_New duds--check._

_Wristband--check._

_Hair...goop--double check._

Prompto surveyed himself in the mirror one last time, his eyes narrowed as he took in what could have been an entirely different person if he didn’t know any better. He wouldn’t say that he’d gotten his appearance anywhere near as close to what Iris had concocted as he’d attempted to, but hey, he wasn’t too far off. Maybe his hair was a touch droopier in places than the perfect coif she’d sculpted it into, yet it was still a far cry from what he’d had before. According to her, that was the most important part.

That was definitely a good thing since the jury was out on the rest of his outfit. With no one to help him match this stuff, he hadn’t had much choice but to put together whatever looked right and hope for the best. Then again, he was pretty new to all this, so there was no telling whether he’d succeeded or not. The patterned skinny jeans (as the sign had called them yesterday), a patched vest, and a plaid shirt weren’t really a combination that Loqi would have approved of. Although that made it all the more delicious, Prompto couldn’t deny he was a little nervous that he was about to walk out of his chambers dressed like a total idiot. Not having his commander around didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try to impress the prince, who would undoubtedly be watching for the slightest mistake from him. The ensemble seemed all right, but would anyone tell him if he’d gotten too liberal with the layers? Would they say that those tall white socks shouldn’t poke out over the top of his boots this way or that the leather bracelets Iris had said were _so edgy_ didn’t look right with his other wristband? Or would they let him go out like this, silently laughing behind their hands as he confirmed to the rest of Insomnia that he had no idea what the hell he was doing?

No, that couldn’t be it. The prince was a lot of things--so were his retainers--but they weren’t cruel. They weren’t vindictive like the people he knew back in Gralea. Sure, he hadn’t known them long; they were probably hiding plenty of stuff underneath their kind facades. Even so, they also seemed like the type of people who would rather thumb their nose in your face than behind your back.

Which was lucky for him, because he had a feeling he was going to need all the input he could get.

Surprisingly enough, he’d already gotten at least a bit, for what that was worth. After the unmitigated mess their training session had become yesterday, Prompto had been positive that he wasn’t going to see any of Noctis’s retainers for the rest of the evening. They should have had their hands full, right? A prince collapsing had to be a huge deal--there were probably doctors and surgeons and healers and well-wishers and ten million people to make sure he had everything he could possibly want. Comfort and all that was priority number one when you were the second most important person in the kingdom. If it had been the emperor… Well, strike that: they never would have been in that position to begin with. For one thing, Aldercapt wouldn’t have been caught dead doing manual labor let alone training to kick someone else’s ass; he had people who could and would do that for him, so it wasn’t necessary. For another thing, he would never have gotten to the point where he collapsed. He would have said that his opponent was using trickery to tire him out and had the poor bastard executed. Fortunately, Prompto hadn’t been in that position with him around. He liked his head on his shoulders, thank you very much.

He _had_ with Noctis, though. He would have completely understood if Gladiolus had torn his head off rather than rush out of the room like he had, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t worried for the tiniest moment that that was why the prince’s Shield had shown up randomly at his door a few hours after their abrupt departure. What had unfolded instead wasn’t a conversation he’d been expecting or even _considering_ as a possibility, if he was being honest. In fact, he was still wondering as he stepped out of his apartment and joined the Crownsguard operative waiting to escort him whether he had dreamed the whole thing. There was no other way that Gladiolus would have actually _apologized_ to him, was there?

Apparently, there was. Those were the first words out of his mouth, however grudgingly he’d spoken them. Gladiolus wasn’t one to mince words, which Prompto appreciated, so he’d gotten straight to the point. The prince was fine, he’d said; he just hadn’t gotten over whatever he’d come down with during the negotiations, he’d explained. After a good night’s rest and a little of Ignis’s cooking, he would be on his feet and ready for the community outreach project he had scheduled for today.

Prompto hadn’t had the guts to tell him that all of that rang as false as Loqi’s halfhearted attempts at showing deference to King Regis. They’d spent the previous day running around half of Insomnia, and with the exception of a few instances where Noctis looked ready for a nap (or had taken one regardless of his audience), he hadn’t seemed sick at all. Whatever it was that had happened in that training room, they didn’t want him to know--and that was fine! It made his job easier, after all. The only thing he needed to know was that the prince was vulnerable. Whether he was truly sick or having some other issue, it gave him an opening that he _would_ take next time, no matter how likely he was to be caught.

He hadn’t said that to Gladiolus, of course. That would have been _awkward_. Instead, he’d expressed his relief--his totally, completely, one hundred percent feigned relief--and brushed off his apology.

“It’s no big,” he’d insisted when the Shield simply raised a skeptical eyebrow in response. “You had bigger fish to fry. Totally understandable.”

It was hard to tell whether he agreed or merely didn’t want to argue the point, because all Gladiolus had offered was a noncommittal grunt and a hurried, “Yeah, well, won’t happen again.”

Somehow, Prompto highly doubted that, but he chose not to call him on it. Keeping secrets was part of Gladiolus’s job: as Shield to the _not_ future king, Noctis had to be his priority, not Prompto’s peace of mind. The treaty required them to let him tag along; it didn’t force them to tell him every little thing. He wasn’t a betting kind of guy--it never ended well in Niflheim, to say the least--but he was willing to wager that he’d be left in the dark an awful lot while the prince’s retainers had the chance. Maybe they didn’t mean to do it, but that was what would happen.

In that, they could call things even.

That reminder hadn’t kept him from shooting the Shield a grateful smile before he took his leave or remarking, “Thanks for the heads up. I really appreciate it, Gladiolus.”

Either he hadn’t expected Prompto’s gratitude to be as sincere as it surprisingly was, or he was waiting for some invisible shoe to drop. Whichever it was, Gladiolus had stood there in silence, his gaze piercing as he’d stared at Prompto like he might take it back any second. He hadn’t, of course, but the Shield couldn’t have anticipated that.

Like Prompto couldn’t have predicted the fact that, right before the door closed behind him, the prince’s retainer had grunted, “Just Gladio’s fine.”

Just Gladio. _Just_ Gladio, as though it was no big deal that the Shield of the ( _not_ ) future king was letting him use a nickname. And not only that--a nickname that _nobody_ but the prince and Ignis used.

His _friends_.

Following his escort out of the elevator towards the entrance hall, Prompto couldn’t help shaking his head, residual confusion still swimming around in there. He’d been up half the night trying to figure out what that meant to no avail. Was it a vote of confidence, or was it a trap? Did it mean that Gladiolus-- _Gladio_ \--was coming around to him, or had the prince given him orders to lighten up? At this point, it didn’t matter how he spun it: nothing made sense anymore. All he knew was that he was in _way_ over his head here.

Nobody had told him what a _community outreach project_ entailed either, so he was getting the distinct impression that his bafflement wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

For now, he just had to keep his head up and his mission in mind. He couldn’t afford more slip-ups, not when Drautos was probably hovering overhead like the world’s shittiest bat, just waiting for him to botch the job. Prompto needed to observe, not let himself be too entertained with his target to take him down. It was meaningless that the latter looked tired but excited where he was standing by the doors with Ignis and Gladio; it didn’t matter that his grin was infectious or that Prompto could feel one spreading across his own face in response. It didn’t matter that he was growing dangerously accustomed to the comfort of what he was unwisely calling _his_ room or fond of the clothes that had been given to him by his enemy.

They weren’t friends, and he couldn’t let himself forget it even if he did have to behave the opposite.

So, waving a hand in as much excitement as he could muster, Prompto jogged the last few feet to the others just as Gladio called out, “‘Bout time. Looks like my sister rubbed off on you.”

“Gotta look the part, right?” Prompto shot back without much heat. If anything, he was a bit surprised at the smugness in his own tone when he continued, “C’mon. You know I look _good_.”

“Good and _late_ ,” countered Gladio, rolling his eyes and pointing to the door. “We ready to go, or does anyone else need to primp first?”

“So, there’s no chance of getting _you_ to change?” Noctis’s teased. There was no real malice behind it despite his grimace at his Shield’s apparel, and based on the way Gladio snorted in reply, this had to be something they’d been through before.

Now apparently wasn’t the time, though, not when they were on a schedule and Ignis ran a tighter ship than Prompto had ever seen.

“Need I remind you that the children are waiting for us at the aquarium?” he observed, his so-called question sounding more like a reprimand.

Noctis clued into it immediately and nodded, gesturing towards the exit and leading the way down to the waiting car. At first, Prompto thought that would be it--they were going to ignore the behemoth in the room (not the Gladio-shaped one) and pretend that everything was completely normal. Then he noticed the furtive sidelong glances the prince kept shooting him and realized that nope, it _was_ going to get more uncomfortable than what he’d already gone through with the former’s Shield.

_Awesooooooome._

“Listen... About yesterday,” Noctis began apprehensively once Prompto had settled into the seat beside him. From the looks of things, he felt just as awkward about this as Prompto did.

That wasn’t his only reason for cutting the prince off before they had to suffer some shared embarrassment, of course. Prompto wasn’t stupid: the odds that Gladio had been entirely honest with him were pretty slim. Waiting for the prince to clarify might look suspicious, especially if they expected him to take what his Shield said as gospel. Yeah, better to make it look like he’d eaten that excuse last night than risk exposure.

“It’s cool, man,” Prompto waved his impending explanation aside with an easy grin. “Already got the short version. You’re feeling better now, though, right?”

There was a pregnant pause in which Noctis didn’t answer immediately, his gaze shifting to his Shield with a slight crease between his eyebrows. The latter didn’t offer any advice or clarification from the passenger seat, however; he merely grunted in acknowledgement before turning towards the window and tuning both of them out. Well, if Prompto had thought things couldn’t get any weirder today, it seemed that he was mistaken. So much for that fleeting camaraderie.

Noctis didn’t let him dwell on it as he casually replied, “Uh, yeah. Way better. Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to explain what we’re doing today.”

_Uh...because it’s not your job?_

Didn’t planning and scheduling fall under Ignis’s purview? Sure, Noctis had run the show during their shopping trip, but that wasn’t anything official. _Community outreach project_ sounded like something a chamberlain would be in charge of and a prince would just show up to take credit for. That was the emperor’s typical habit, anyway, although he wouldn’t have taken part in anything with the word _community_ in it. That would make him look too soft, and if there was one thing their aging diplomat didn’t want, it was to look as impotent as he totally was. Prompto had no reason to believe that Noctis or his father were any different, but even if they were, this wasn’t the first time he hadn’t been properly briefed on business that he was expected to tag along with regardless. He was used to that kind of stuff: operations in Niflheim were on a need-to-know basis, and there were only so many things grunts like him needed to know. Such was his duty, and he doubted this was going to be the last time it happened.

Actually, maybe it would. After all, if Prompto finished his job properly, he wouldn’t be around to internally roll his eyes at any more assignment briefings. That was a silver lining, albeit a bitter one.

“Not exactly your fault there, dude,” Prompto assured him, shrugging.

Noctis nodded, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips before he continued, “Well, once every couple months or so, we take some kids from one of the schools in the area out on a field trip. We try to focus on ones from the districts with higher refugee populations. They get to have some fun and go somewhere they wouldn’t normally, plus a pretty awesome lunch. So...basically, we’re going to be chilling with a bunch of ten-year-olds today.”

“For this particular outing, we’ll be taking the children to Insomnia’s foremost aquarium,” Ignis interjected, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to glance at them in the rearview mirror. Maybe it was Prompto’s imagination, but he could have sworn there was something wry in the chamberlain’s gaze when it fell on Noctis.

Or maybe he was reading things just right, because the prince appeared to notice it too. If Noctis was bothered by whatever Ignis was implying, though, he didn’t show it. In fact, the not so gentle reminder seemed coax the prince out a bit more. His professional smile grew into something larger and more genuine when he pointed out, “It’s _super_ educational, Specs.”

Ignis hummed knowingly. “And it has nothing to do with your own preferred hobbies, then?”

“Come on, they have a _touch_ tank!”

“For the _kids_ ,” Gladio remarked, although he seemed about as convinced by Noctis’s act as Ignis was.

“ _Duh_ ,” the prince huffed regardless. “They’re gonna love it.”

“And so’re you.”

“I mean, why not?”

Prompto listened to their banter, forcing his smile to stay even despite the fact that he didn’t much feel like faking enthusiasm at all. How could he when he was perfectly capable of reading between the lines of Noctis’s propaganda fuel? Yeah, sure--taking a bunch of kids out on a trip. Buying them lunch. Helping out the poor refugees that came to Insomnia for protection from the big, bad empire. It was all so perfect and caring...

And total bullshit.

It didn’t take experience to know that it was all a crock of crap, that there were ulterior motives behind the prince’s actions. It sounded great on the surface: the crown prince of Lucis taking a few hours out of his busy schedule to show the less privileged children of the city a good time when, in reality, he was actually keeping an eye out for the kinds of qualities his father was going to need. The military, the Kingsglaive, the Crownsguard--they might end up serving King Regis in any number of capacities, but the point remained that they _would_ be serving once the prince got a read on who would be worth purchasing. At any rate, they were definitely late to the game: the empire went with much younger kids than the ones that would be old enough to go to an aquarium, but maybe they had their own strategy in waiting. Recruiting infants was pretty risky, considering the fact that you couldn’t test their abilities. They could be useless or not survive training; they might be better off dumped in an office somewhere so they couldn’t do any lasting damage. By using older candidates, the king could probably save a fortune.

Plus, Noctis was competent, much as Prompto didn’t want to admit it for his own purposes. He wasn’t likely to report back to his father that they had a potential recruit if he wasn’t absolutely certain that they would be a good fit for His Majesty’s service. That had to be the real reason he’d organized this hoax when, if he truly was as sick as Gladio had made it sound, he should have been in bed. Somehow, Prompto doubted King Regis would have been desperate enough for some child soldiers to send the prince from the relative safety of the Citadel when he wasn’t at peak condition.

Whas _that_ why they were going to an _aquarium_ , of all places? There was no way to gauge any skills there, not unless the prince was looking for more brains than brawn. (Given the state of his Shield, however, Prompto highly doubted it.) They would have been better off taking the kids to the park and setting up some kind of obstacle course. Sitting around watching them gawk at fish all day? Not quite a military exercise.  

Which was exactly why Prompto was the grunt and Noctis was the prince. Lucis had lost the war, but that didn’t mean it had been an easy victory for Niflheim. Their opposition had held their own for over a hundred years, so they were clearly doing something right, albeit not right enough to have won. Prompto’s job wasn’t to ask questions or judge how the other side operated--if he did it right, they wouldn’t be operating for much longer anyway.

And he’d be able to save those kids from their inevitable fate.

“...ven listening?”

Gladio’s sharp tone broke through his thoughts, and Prompto dragged himself back to the present to see everyone staring at him as though he’d grown three heads and was breathing fire.

_Whoops._

“Oh, uh, sorry! Thought I saw...a...dog,” he offered lamely, gesturing towards the window as though they might just catch said invisible hound if they squinted. None of them bothered, though, and Gladio simply rolled his eyes before repeating what he had probably already asked a few times if his exasperation was any indication.

“I _said_ , you ever been to a place like this back in Niflheim?”

Blinking, Prompto inquired, “An aquarium?”

The deadpan stare he received was all the response he needed.

“Nope.”

Nobody asked why, for a change. Nobody tried to figure out how else he had been spending his time if not by frequenting the kinds of frivolous locales that a prince could. Besides the glance Ignis and Gladio exchanged in the front seat, they didn’t address the subject at all, which was nice after he’d spent the last few days explaining every minute detail of his answers to either them or Iris.

For the most part, only the prince appeared to have even noticed that he’d spoken, and his smile was slightly more cautious as he replied, “Well, you’re seriously gonna love it.”

_Sure, dude. Sure._

The rest of the ride was spent in relative silence, and Prompto couldn’t be more grateful for it. He needed to get his head back in the game now that he had a better idea of what exactly they’d be doing today. The concept wasn’t new to him, no, yet it had still been an unexpected surprise. Even so, it didn’t set him back for long. This was normal, after all. When Lucis was out of the way, Aldercapt would be using these same kids--they’d just be serving _him_ instead of King Regis.

Not that Prompto would ever see that, but hey, the emperor was pretty predictable.

He didn’t have time to further ponder the future he would never take part in, however, as the car came to a stop in front of a building that, in itself, wasn’t very impressive. It was only two stories tall, the facade made of plain white stone the way so many of the structures at the heart of the Crown City were. The windows were unadorned from the outside, and there were telltale bars on the ones at ground level to keep out fish-obsessed thieves. (At least, he assumed that was what they were for. Why anyone would steal a fish, he had no idea.) All things considered, it was nowhere near as extravagant as he had come to expect from Insomnians. Anywhere else, in fact, he would have said that it was fairly standard. There was no excess or waste; in some ways, he wouldn’t be too surprised to see a place like this in Gralea.

This was Lucis, though, so the modest architecture was more than compensated by patches of green out front. The lawn was dotted with trees, benches, and small stone decorations masquerading as aquatic life; there were booths set up here and there, scientists standing around them to offer information to passersby that actually seemed to give a damn. Plus, Prompto could spot a line out the door that made the mess hall back in the barracks look deserted during rush hour. It had to be better inside than out if everyone was clamoring to get in, right?

Apparently, he was about to find out, because Noctis elbowed him with a pointed nod towards the door.

“You bring your camera?” he asked once Prompto caught the hint and climbed out of the car.

Now, _that_ was a stupid question. Prompto scoffed, pulling the device out of his pocket with a cautious flourish. They might not have told him where they were going, but he wasn’t about to take a chance on missing something that would look amazing on that little screen. If he was lucky, he’d even have some nice memories to reflect on when all was said and done.

Y’know. _Before_ the execution.

Noctis must have thought as much, because he nodded in approval and totally burst Prompto’s bubble when he suggested, “Probably gonna want to get some pictures while we’re here.”

_...Oh. Yeah._

It may not have been a big deal. It may have been the prince being completely genuine.

That didn’t quash his sudden suspicion that this was more than merely an outing for Prompto--that Noctis wanted _him_ to catalog the subjects. And why shouldn’t he? It would have been just as easy to get Gladio or Ignis to do it, but Prompto was here for a reason. He might as well pull his weight, right?

“Noct, we should get a move on,” hinted Ignis without commenting on his new task. He was already striding towards the entrance, gesturing for them to follow. “We’re late, and it appears that the children are already inside.”

“Yeah, cool,” replied Noctis, who stuffed his hands into his pockets as though the grin on his face wouldn’t give his excitement away.

It was amazing, all the little tells he had. Since he’d arrived in Insomnia, Prompto hadn’t seen the prince exhibit much enthusiasm. That was to be expected when they were hosting a bunch of crusty old dudes who wanted to take everything Lucis had to offer alongside everything they didn’t, but still, Prompto would have thought that at least _something_ would tickle his fancy now and again. Their outing a couple of days ago had been the closest he came to legitimate happiness, as far as Prompto could tell, as had the pizza he’d made for lunch during the negotiations. Both of those instances paled in comparison to Noctis’s demeanor as they bypassed the line and slipped into the aquarium with little more than a nod to the security outside. It was pretty indicative, and not in the good way: scouting for future troops seemed to be the prince’s favorite pastime. Not that it shouldn’t be--it would keep him off the front lines if Lucis ever got in another war, after all. Making sure he had plenty of cannon fodder was probably the highlight of his week.

“We’re going to start with just the basic tour. No big deal or anything,” the prince was chattering to him, sounding more nonchalant than Prompto could tell he was. “The hallways are like giant tunnels with tanks all around you--even in the ceiling. The kids will go crazy for that kind of stuff. We can let them look at their own pace. Just gotta make sure no one wanders off too far.”

_No escapes. Got it._

Grinning slyly at his Shield, Noctis continued, “And if any of the kids want a closer look at anything, you get Gladio to lift them up.”

_Teamwork assessment. Makes sense._

Prompto had a feeling that was going to be more difficult than the prince was probably anticipating, however. When he got a load of the kids they’d be surveying… Well, they weren’t quite what the empire would have had in mind for prospective recruits, that was for sure. That was one of the reasons they got that out of the way early: kids didn’t have time to accumulate bad habits if they were purchased young, even if some of the ones who joined later tended to pass a few along. Prompto had lost count of how many times Loqi had reprimanded him for using terms like _dude_ , _bro_ , or any number of other colloquialisms that didn’t make him sound like a scholar. Actually, Loqi didn’t want that either, but he’d always said that would look a lot better than _caveman_ regardless of what Prompto really was. He hadn’t bought into that idea, however, and did his damndest at every turn to both show his intellect _and_ use whatever words he wanted. There was no harm in it, especially when it appeared that the prince and his companions were more at ease when he didn’t talk like a so-called, stereotypical _Niff_.

These kids were beyond that level of deviation, though. If Prompto had to guess, he would say they were unsalvageable. For one thing, they ranged anywhere from about five to ten at the outside, which meant they were set enough in their ways to be an insubordination risk. For another, they were bouncing around as if they were the ones who had gotten those milkshakes the other day instead of Prompto. Seriously, they couldn’t stand still! This one was dragging one of their chaperones (probably hired by the prince so keep an eye on them all day) over to look at some fish sculpture; that one was whining to the others that he wanted to go to a stadium instead, whatever that meant. Everywhere around the swanky lobby, there were children clamoring and talking and pointing and exclaiming.

_Damn_ , were they loud or what?

They didn’t even seem to notice that they had a royal guest at first, not that Noctis appeared to  mind. He took it in stride, as always, which was a strategic boon. The last thing he would want was to put the kids on edge when they were supposed to be showing him what they were made of. Setting them at ease and seeing how they behaved? It was admittedly the perfect method of determining how difficult it was going to be to correct their behavior for the king’s benefit.

If that _was_ his plan, then it was short-lived at best. One little girl happened to look over her shoulder--her eyes went wide--her jaw dropped--

“Pwince Noctis!” she shrieked, hopping up and down in place while every single head in the building seemed to turn in their direction.

Every. Single. Head.

Contrary to what he’d expected, Noctis was the one who froze under their curious and admiring gazes. Prompto thought that should have been _his_ line: of the two of them, he was more likely to get mobbed today than the prince.

Then again, his ingenious disguise must have been working. Nobody paid a lick of attention to him, not when they had a royal in their midst. There were a couple of people whispering about how _the prince was here_ , and yet more merely stared with their mouths open as though they hadn’t seen pictures of the guy before. It was striking purely because Prompto had never witnessed anything like it. Wherever they went the other day, people seemed to strive not to notice; they didn’t make a scene, nor did they approach to gather favor with their prince. They’d respected the fact that they were there on personal business rather than in an official capacity, as far as Prompto could tell. This was something entirely different: Noctis was here as _Prince Noctis_ , the kind of guy who said he was doing community outreach only to start writing receipts later, or so Prompto assumed. They totally weren’t whispering about that, but their eyes were fixed on Noctis nevertheless.

And he had never looked more uncomfortable than he did in that moment.

As if realizing that standing perfectly still wasn’t going to divert their gazes, he nevertheless raised a hand in a firm yet timid greeting. A few of the adult patrons took that as a sign to go about their business, but some couldn’t decipher the hint and simply watched with interest as the little girl broke free of her handler and ran straight for the prince.

Prompto was surprised that Gladio didn’t immediately intervene and drop the child flat on her rear. She was more than old enough to have begun basic training, after all. She should have known better than to rush her future ruler; that kind of behavior in the empire would get you designated as the target for practice sessions. She _so_ wasn’t going to be chosen, that much was obvious.

That was what would have happened in the empire, at least. Her demeanor didn’t appear to bother Noctis at all. In fact, he knelt down to greet her, his smile not wavering for a second as she grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the end of the lobby.

“Come on, come on! We gotta go,” she commanded, if that was what you called the childish whine that threatened to break Prompto’s eardrums.

The weird part? Noctis _let himself_ be bossed around by someone half his size. He tripped along behind her as though she was seriously forcing his hand, apologizing to the random passersby he ran into when she didn’t pay attention to where it was they were going.

“Hey, Specs, could you…?” Noctis called over his shoulder, waving his free hand towards the other kids where they were giggling at his plight. Ignis nodded firmly, clearly aware of what he was trying to ask.

_Detach the gremlin, maybe?_

Nope. The opposite, actually.

Ignis clapped his hands together and ushered the rest of the children towards the entryway in the prince’s wake with a stern yet kind, “Proceed inside and stay together, everyone!”

That was a joke, but hey, at least he tried. The kids were too excited to bother with things like _order_ and _organization_ , if they were even old enough to understand what that meant when they weren’t in more advanced training yet. Ignis didn’t berate them for it, though. Instead, he turned to Prompto and Gladio with a surprisingly relaxed smile and a gesture at some kind of ticket counter.

“I’ll take care of the entry fees,” he advised them, “if you would like to go inside with Noct.”

Gladio nodded, rolling his eyes and grumbling, “Yeah, should probably make sure he doesn’t get trampled by a bunch’a kindergarteners.”

Well, that would definitely put a damper on the occasion. Then again, with how chill Noctis seemed with all the little future soldiers around, maybe he wouldn’t mind that so much. At least then he would get to test how good they were with ignoring allies’ cries for help. That was always the lesson Prompto had the hardest time with, but he’d passed. Eventually.

That was neither here nor there. What _was_ important was that Gladio was leading them towards a tunnel filled with blue light and the screeching of children as they _ooh_ ed and _ahh_ ed at the sight.

And okay, they had good reason.

Noctis hadn’t been kidding when he said the tanks were everywhere. What he’d neglected to mention was that it wasn’t tanks _plural_ : the _walls_ were made of glass all the way around so that wildlife floated every which way, surrounding you where you stood. If Prompto looked up, he could see the bellies of the fish as they darted overhead; on his sides, more curious creatures edged towards the glass, immediately backing away when one of the kids pressed their face up against it. It was like standing on the bottom of the ocean, enveloped in the water without drowning and fraternizing with the locals as if they were just more of the same. It was, to put it bluntly, one of the most magical things he’d ever seen--and he was speaking as someone who got to stare up at the Wall King Regis had erected around the city every day.

“This is unreal,” he breathed as he took it all in, his camera forgotten where he held it limply at his side. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to take a picture so much as he couldn’t decide what to capture first.

“It’s all right,” hedged Gladio with a shrug. Prompto tore his eyes from the scenery to shoot him a skeptical glance.

“Just _all right_ ? Dude, we’re _underwater_!”

“Only kinda.”

“ _Kinda_ still counts!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“It _totally_ does.”

“You guys’re funny.”

Prompto didn’t jump out of his skin. He _didn’t_ . He simply... _started_ when a tiny hand tugged on the bottom of his vest, and he looked down to see some kid grinning up at him as though they were the most entertaining thing on the planet.

“Uh…” Taking a step back, Prompto chuckled awkwardly. “Thanks?”

“Pretty sure he means funny _looking_ ,” Gladio pointed out with a wry smirk, his joke making the kid giggle harder.

Oh. So it was gonna be like that, was it? Well, two could play at that game.

“He _also_ said _you guys_ , which means you’re just as funny looking as I am,” he huffed exaggeratedly.

Gladio didn’t laugh, but it looked like he came close when he retorted, “I ain’t the one who looks like a chocobo’s a-- _butt_ ,” he amended at the last moment.

“What’s that one?”

Well, Gladio’s censorship apparently wasn’t worth it since the kid lost interest in them as quickly as it had hit him. ( _Thank the Six._ ) Prompto watched the attention-deficient little boy run off to join some of the other children, waiting until he was sure he wouldn’t be seen before shooting Gladio the rudest hand gesture he knew. It had the exact opposite effect on him than on most people: where they would get bathroom duty for a week if Loqi caught them doing that behind his back, the Shield just barked a laugh and strolled off towards Noctis. It was a good thing, too, since the prince was getting pummeled with questions from the tiny recruits.

Prompto was starting to understand what Ignis had meant when he’d made waves about Noctis’s choice in location. The prince was only too happy to oblige their curiosity—or so it seemed. He leaned forward to examine anything they pointed at, squinting into the tank to get a better look.

“That one’s a rainbow trout,” he announced with the confidence of someone who was positive they couldn’t be mistaken.

For his part, Prompto was more in agreement with the kid who’d asked: they frowned skeptically and pressed their hands to the glass, glaring quizzically at the very obviously _not_ rainbow-colored fish. This one knew better than to argue with royalty, however, which probably earned them a few points on whatever mental checklist the prince was using. Instead, they hunted around the tank, clearly looking for a harder one to quiz Noctis on.

_Observation skills are pretty good. Obedience is adequate, but she could use some work on controlling her expressions._

“Okay, that one!” she exclaimed, jabbing the glass with her finger.

Noctis tilted his head in thought, not providing the answer right away this time. It was pretty obvious he knew it already, though. A tiny smirk tugged at the corners of his lips that went unnoticed by the kid until, with a little nudge, he finally replied, “Oh, that’s a Lucian carp. Those ones taste pretty good.”

She wrinkled her nose in unveiled disgust. “Ew, you’re not supposed to _eat_ it.”

_Aaaaaaaaand there go a few points on logic and finesse. Well, can’t win ‘em all._

Noctis humored her regardless, shrugging a little instead of pointing out how stupid that assessment was. “What are you supposed to do with them, then?”

“Make a pet?” she offered after a thoughtful, wide-eyed hum. This time, it looked like she wasn’t out to contradict him; she likely knew she’d overstepped with that last one. For this, she was definitely seeking some approval.

_Got a ways to go, but not hopeless._

“You know what? I think that’s a good idea too,” Noctis admitted as she pressed her nose to the glass again, fogging it slightly in her hunt for some more potential pets.

As far as Prompto was concerned, the aquarium could keep them. Fish were cool and all, but he’d rather look at them here than have one in his room.

“That one’s pretty! What’s that one?”

“That’s a Noct Gar,” answered the prince without a moment's hesitation. If the way Gladio snorted derisively was any indication, it wasn’t exactly a new joke, but Noctis was obviously satisfied with it anyway.

The girl choked on a breathy laugh and did her best to frown dubiously. “No, it isn’t!”

“Pretty sure it is!”

“Nuh uuuuuuh!”

“Uh huh.”

“Prove it!”

Noctis threw his hands up in defeat, sighing heavily and bemoaning, “I guess you got me. I can’t prove it, but legend says, Noct Gars are super rare. There’s supposed to be only one left in the wild, somewhere out in Lucis.”

Transgressions forgotten, the little girl’s jaw dropped as she breathed, “Really?”

“Yup,” he confirmed, eyes meeting Prompto’s over her shoulder. With a smirk, he added, “Bet you can find a few others that’re only around here. How about it?”

“Ooh, okay!”

Noctis didn’t need to prod her in the direction of another group: she barreled right over to them without further prompting. Prompto wasn’t quite sure, but he had a feeling they were going to be too busy gushing over the mythical _Noct Gar_ to do much searching. From the looks of it, the prince wasn’t too put out by the idea.

Neither was Ignis, who had a slight smile on his face when he approached to tell them, “The arrangements are seen to. I hope you haven’t managed to lose any of the children in my absence.”

“Figure we’re more likely to lose Noct,” muttered Gladio, rolling his eyes at the prince’s obvious enthusiasm. “The kids’ll stick around.”

“I’m hardly surprised.”

Prompto, on the other hand, _was_. What he’d thought was a joke turned out to be anything but: Noctis was abuzz all day, pointing out stuff to the kids and making them aware of what a nerd he was when it came to all things aquatic. Hell, it seemed like they were more interested in watching him than they were in the actual sights. It was a shame, too, because they had Prompto so enthralled that it was a wonder he caught onto Noctis’s display at all.

Like everything else in Lucis, this place had reached a level of impressive that Prompto was pretty sure Niflheim never could. It wasn’t like you could ride one of these fish into battle—if you could, they’d have figured out how by now. He’d seen the outside of what passed for aquariums back in Gralea, but from what he’d been told, they were utterly utilitarian: plain tanks, cards with information, and that was it. Here, however, it was grand and meant to entertain as much as inform. Little screens read aloud about different species and their histories; there were rooms where you could touch them as long as you were careful. (Noctis _loved_ that one.) Some lady with huge glasses and the weirdest outfit he’d ever seen was even giving a lecture while the kids ran around chasing frogs, totally ignoring every word she said.

It wasn’t until they reached that room that Prompto’s prior concerns surfaced again, and he stared at the unassuming children with something that would have been regret if he didn’t know it was for the best. Noctis had mentioned that these were refugees—what better life could they expect living in Insomnia than working for the king? Ignis and Gladio were doing just fine, as were the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard so far as he’d observed. Was it such a bad thing that they were unaware of the auditions they were currently starring in? Was it really so terrible that Noctis was watching them all, his smile belying the fact that he was probably analyzing every move for potential weaknesses?

His place wasn’t to judge. His fate had already been decided. For what it was worth, Noctis and his father definitely seemed a lot different from Aldercapt. Maybe it would turn out okay for these kids even though it hadn’t for him.

“You still with us in there?”

Blinking, Prompto shook himself from his stupor and shot Gladio a halfhearted grin. “Kinda hard not to be. These kids sure know how to scream.”

That much was true: for as enthusiastic as they were about catching the frogs, they still squealed when they had to touch their slimy exteriors. Prompto was going to let them handle this one.

So was Gladio, it seemed. He merely snorted as he replied, “Yeah, got a lot of energy. They’d run us ragged in training, that’s for sure.”

In that instant, it was like the world stopped.

Prompto hadn’t been expecting such open confirmation, but there it was, plain as day. Maybe that was a good thing, though: if they weren’t as abrasive about it, perhaps that boded well for the future these kids would be assigned?

“Oh, uh, yeah. Totally. I bet they’ll really kick some serious behind once they’re all trained up.”

_...Why’s he looking at me like that?_

There had been no less than fifty-nine occasions when Gladio had stared at him as though he was speaking another language (he’d counted—twice), but this one took the cake. Even Ignis, who usually covered his surprise better, appeared to be taken aback enough that he didn’t bother.

So _that_ was what it looked like when they were caught. In the empire, no one would have given a damn, but _here_? Well, it looked like they weren’t quite so proud of how they went about putting together their army after all. That was comforting, even if Prompto knew he had no right to feel that way. Governments did what they had to--it was how the world worked. Everyone had a job to do, whether it was worshipping their fearless leaders or serving them. There was really no reason why they should react like this. Surely, this was a common enough occurrence that they weren’t shy about it anymore?

Then again, the way Gladio was staring at him pointed to the opposite. If he didn’t know any better, Prompto would have said that Gladio had spotted him licking the frogs or something. That would have been a more adequate excuse for the look on his face: confused and a touch horrified.

Maybe he was realizing that the enemy was aware of their recruitment methods--or he was catching what Noctis allegedly had. Either way, it was Ignis who recovered first, clearing his throat uncomfortably to break the suddenly awkward silence.

“I suppose if that is their chosen profession when they come of age, they will more than suffice,” he mused with a significant glance at Gladio, who did absolutely nothing to aid him in covering up their blunder.

In fact, the Shield was already taking the necessary steps to remove himself from the equation entirely. Across the room, the frog lady was pitching a fit: apparently a few of the kids were handling her precious _babies_ with less than delicate hands, which she said just _wouldn’t do at all_ . ( _Said_ was being nice-- _screeched_ was more accurate.) Gesturing wordlessly, Gladio hurried over to defuse the situation, effectively dropping the matter in Ignis’s hands. In all honesty, considering their very different outlooks and personalities, that was probably for the best.

If Ignis was annoyed with Gladio’s hasty retreat, he didn’t show it. Rather, he schooled his features into a pleasant but exasperated smile and dodged the subject altogether: “I do believe that is our cue. It appears we have stayed overlong.”

More like it _appeared_ that if they stayed any longer, the frog lady was going to wallop a child, but Prompto got the picture. So did the rambunctious children, who turned to stare at Ignis when he clapped his hands for attention.

“If you would all thank Ms. Yeager for her hospitality and insights into the amphibious population, it is time for us to take our leave,” he instructed them. At least, Prompto assumed that was what he was doing--the kids simply frowned at him as they attempted to work out what all his fancy words meant.

_Guess the prince doesn’t usually bring him along. Weird._

Once they--and Noctis--finally managed to work it out, there was a small chorus of groans that nearly drowned out the delighted gratitude they threw at the frazzled...scientist? Yeah, they’d go with that. It was hard to call her a scientist when she was busy frantically running around the room in an attempt to gather her brood, though. In Prompto’s experience, scientists were usually a lot harsher and sort of scary. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t get a good laugh at their expense every now and again--they all enjoyed a good dressing-down when one of the brass showed up to see what progress they were making and blamed Loqi if they didn’t do so hot. By comparison, this lady was really...something. Yeah, something.

All things considered, it made for a nice change of pace to leave her behind and congregate in the lobby. At least, everyone besides Prompto did. He stuck as close to the doors as he possibly could and pretended to be engrossed in the pictures he’d taken rather than the almost uncomfortably enthusiastic farewells the prince was garnering from the kids. They jumped all over him, shaking his hand or yanking the hem of his shirt or just waving in an attempt to get a personal word from him. For his part, Noctis had something to say to each one—that he was glad they came and had a good time, that they’d have to do this again in the future, and the other crap someone would spew when they weren’t about to go report on everything they’d seen to their royal father. It would’ve been sickening if it wasn’t so damn cute.

Fortunately, it didn’t last long. Almost before he knew it, the kids were piling into a bus, and they were waiting for someone to bring the car back around front. Ignis and Noctis stood off to the side, talking in low voices so that he wouldn’t hear them compare notes (or so he assumed, given their furtive glances at him), while Gladio hovered beside Prompto. Yeah, if they didn’t want him getting curious, that was one way to quash his eavesdropping.

The return trip was relatively uneventful, mostly spent in silence with the exception of Noctis asking to see his photos. If he was looking for information, though, he must have been sadly mistaken: Prompto had been careful only to take pictures of what interested him, and that definitely didn’t count the little future recruits. Noctis has been the one to tell him that was what it was for, and he certainly hadn’t mandated what he was meant to capture.

_No backsies._

When they arrived at the Citadel entrance, Prompto assumed that he’d be led back to his room by one of the attending guards while Noctis was whisked away to share everyone’s assessments of the day with his father. That or he would head for his room and send Ignis to give the report. That sounded about right.

Which was why he froze in surprise when, after a moment’s hesitation in the lobby, Noctis turned to him with a nod towards a separate hallway that Prompto had assumed was strictly off limits for all enemies of Lucis. That was sort of the theme around here besides the few places he was allowed to roam around, after all.

“Uh, you got a minute? There’s a pretty awesome view from the roof, if you wanted to get a couple more shots today.”

The prince acted like the invitation wasn’t a big deal, just like it wouldn’t be a big deal if Prompto said no, but his body language contradicted what his mouth uttered. The guy might think he was super slick at hiding things, but most of the time, he wasn’t that hard to read.

And it wasn’t Prompto’s place to deny him what he wanted. Whether it was truly to take pictures or to throw him off the roof now that their secrets had been unveiled, there really wasn’t much choice in the matter.

“Sure,” he replied lightly, glancing at Ignis and Gladio. If they came along, then the prince wouldn't have to dispose of him all by himself. That way, when someone had to answer for the puddle in front of the Citadel, he’d have a good alibi.

So, Prompto was boggled yet again when Noctis extended an invitation to them only for Gladio to decline.

“Think I’ll pass. Gotta work some of the kinks out,” he added, stretching his arms over his head.

“The kids tucker you out?” teased Prompto, unable to help the quick jab. To his amazement, Gladio seemed to appreciate it.

“They got nothin’ on Iris when she was little. Just figure I oughta be ready for this one”—he pointed to Noctis—“so we can train tomorrow. Bright and early.”

Based on the prince’s grimace, Prompto was going to assume he was both less than enthused and not quite in the loop on that one. He had to hand it to him, though: the prince had the grace to wait until his retainers were out of earshot before the verbal abuses began.

“I was hoping he’d hold off on the whole training thing since the last two times were a total bust,” Noctis grumbled as he led the way into one of the private elevators at the end of the corridor. Prompto wisely chose not to comment, watching him make quick work of the access panel instead. Although the prince was put out with his Shield, it definitely wasn’t Prompto’s place to insert his two gil regardless. That was just a recipe for disaster.

Plus, he had plenty to distract him: within seconds, the numbers on the floor display were ascending higher and higher, well past _broken bones_ and heading rapidly into _certain death_ range.

_That’s comforting._

The only saving grace was the fact that if the prince truly had been sick so recently, Prompto was confident that he’d be able to take him if a struggle to throw him off the building ensued.

Except that wasn’t what Noctis had in mind at all. No, apparently he was going for the tough questions this time.

“So, it looked like you and Gladio were getting along for a change,” Noctis observed once the elevator came to a stop, a small smile playing across his lips. “You must have really impressed him in training yesterday. It took me months to get him to stop looking at me like I was worse than broccoli.”

Prompto huffed a forced laugh, immediately pointing out, “Dude, broccoli isn't _that_ bad.”

In fact, it was delicious, but he was already pushing this too far by disagreeing at all.

The more difficult part was finding out how to address...whatever it was that he and Gladio finally saw eye to eye on. He harbored no delusions that it was anywhere near what someone might call _friendship_ —they were too different for that beyond the Niff versus Lucian deal. They’d found some kind of understanding, though. Well, it was either that or he was easily pleased when enemies didn’t take potshots at his prince if the latter was vulnerable. That would be the logical answer.

But when had Lucians ever been logical?

That was the thought that stuck with him when he followed Noctis out a set of wide double doors at the end of the hall and exited onto an observation deck that overlooked the whole city. Just as the prince had said, it was spectacular: the sun was lowering beyond the distant walls, shimmering against the backdrop of the magical one and setting the white stone of the buildings ablaze with fiery light. It was as though Insomnia was burning, but not in the bad way—not in the way the emperor wanted. No, this was something else, something he never would have expected to see in his lifetime let alone appreciate. Up here, watching tiny specks moving about their lives below and admiring the way the sun turned the city into some kind of fairy tale, Prompto couldn’t help thinking he wouldn’t mind being executed here. There was no better place to die than right in that spot.

And wasn’t _that_ a mood-ruiner.

So was how Noctis leaned almost dangerously far over the sturdy railing, his eyes trained on the horizon as the sun cast its fading beams against the windows of buildings across the city. For what felt like the longest time, he didn’t say anything at all, and Prompto found himself squirming awkwardly at his side in anticipation of what was undoubtedly to come. It wasn’t like the prince would drag him up here merely to watch the sunset, right? Sure, his fingers were itching to take a few shots with his camera, but he held off just in case the device ended up preceding him over the edge. At least if he was going to die tonight, his precious picture holder would survive.

Yet his own existence was prolonged, at any rate. It was almost a relief when Noctis finally broke the silence with a drawn out sigh.

“So, those kids today... A lot of their families came here from the territories you guys… The territories you all took over.”

Yeah, maybe silence really _was_ the better option.

“Are…they going to be okay?” Noctis inquired, calm yet quiet. A grimace swept across his face as though he regretted mentioning it, but that didn’t stop him from brushing aside his own...whatever it was to continue casually, “I’m not trying to talk down about your home or anything. I’m just, you know, curious. We don’t exactly know much about what goes on after the empire makes a new acquisition.”

Prompto couldn’t convince himself that he was imagining the snarky little edge on Noctis’s voice with that last word. Yeah, he might not have been trying to badmouth Niflheim or anything, but it didn’t sound like he was keen on calling the lands they conquered _acquisitions_ . That was definitely more the emperor’s style--more King Regis’s style, too. The older politicians, the ones who had been at this game for a while, were all big on their euphemisms. Conquered territories were _acquisitions_ . Forced escorts were _guests_ . Getting their balls cut off and handed to them on a plate was called a _treaty_. If it weren’t for the fact that Prompto was supposed to be rooting for the other side, he would have railed at the indignity of it all.

But he _was_ , and dignity wasn’t something that meant much to him. It was the sort of thing that rich people got all up in arms over when they thought they were being disrespected and needed to use a prettier, less petty word for it. That didn’t seem to be what Noctis was doing now, although Prompto figured the prince needed some practice before he became king anyway.

Unfortunately for him, he was asking the wrong person if he wanted to know anything about how the transition would occur. Prompto wasn’t slated to see it, after all.

Shrugging uncomfortably, he ended up replying honestly, “Uh… I guess everybody’ll have a job to do like the rest of us? That’s not really my area of expertise.”

From the looks of things, that only served to confuse the prince rather than put him at ease. Noctis turned to him with a puzzled frown and prodded, “What do you mean, _like the rest of you_?”

_As if you don’t already know._

Okay, if they were going to play this game, then Prompto supposed he could give as good as he got. Noctis clearly wanted to see Niflheim as the true evil here, so he was only too happy to point out that that was one hell of a two-way street.

“Same stuff as you guys,” he answered with a sidelong glance at him. “Some of us fight. Some of us are support. The usual.”

The prince held up a hand, shaking his head in denial. “Wait, hold on. What do you think goes _on_ here, anyway?”

_So much for beating around the bush_ , Prompto thought with an inward cringe. Well, maybe now was the best time to test the prince’s resolve in not throwing him off the Citadel.

“I’m not stupid, dude. I know a recruiting assessment when I see one.”

Much to his surprise, Noctis didn’t seem angry at being called out like that. In fact, the expression he wore was similar to the ones Gladio and Ignis had adopted back at the aquarium. On the prince, however, the horrified shock was a lot more jarring.

“Prompto,” he started slowly, his confusion morphing into what looked suspiciously like concern. “That wasn’t a recruiting assessment. The oldest one there was _ten._ What would we be recruiting them for?”

_Uh huh. Sure._

Man, how dumb did he think Prompto was? Sure, they could call it by a different name if they wanted, but it amounted to the exact same thing.

Scoffing, Prompto couldn’t even face the prince when he told the setting sun, “It’s no big. No need to hide it. I mean, yeah, you guys are a little late in the game. If you were smart, you’d buy ‘em younger so you don’t have to worry about retraining. It works a lot better that way.”

He could feel the prince’s eyes on him, and for what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t say a word. Perhaps he realized he had lost this argument or, more likely, he was considering Prompto’s advice. Never would he have thought he’d be giving recruiting tips to an enemy prince, but hey, his life had taken a few pretty strange turns here recently. Going with the flow was vital to his survival--for however long he had any control over that, of course.

“All of our recruits are volunteers. _Thirteen_ was the youngest anyone’s ever joined up, and even that was a big deal.” Noctis paused, his gaze still firmly focused on Prompto even though he couldn’t see. He could _tell_ . “We don’t _buy_ anyone.”

That one had Prompto whirling on his heel, staring at the prince with his mouth hanging open. “You make them volunteer then don’t even pay their families? That’s cold, dude.”

Colder than Niflheim, even. Now _that_ was a surprise. Maybe these Lucians had a few tricks up their sleeves after all. It hadn’t saved them from losing the war, yet it was kind of impressive in a stomach-turning sort of way.

“We pay _them_ for their service,” Noctis countered automatically. Exasperation colored his tone, and it looked as if the prince was trying his hardest not to shake him. “They still see their families and usually help support them. It’s an _actual_ job, and my dad makes sure that risking your life for Lucis comes with _actual_ benefits.”

_...What._

No. That wasn’t possible. It was the exact opposite: it was impossible that a royal would bother with that sort of thing when it was nowhere near cost effective. Paying soldiers meant long-term losses of capital. And it wasn’t just the money--the clothes, the food, the lodgings? All of that was expensive, and the king simply...gave it to them? No questions asked? They merely had to put their lives on the line?

It couldn’t be real. People weren’t like that, especially not people with power. Prompto knew that better than most.

But that would explain why they’d lost the war, right? If the king was busy handing out resources like it was going out of style, then it was no wonder they’d ended up the way they did. It was no wonder they kept looking at him funny when he mentioned his own service and spent so much time doing frivolous, unimportant things.

They were lazy. They were wasteful.

They didn’t use kids as soldiers. If anything, Noctis seemed so disgusted by the idea that it was _Prompto_ who was starting to feel ashamed of bringing it up.

So, he didn’t say anything else. He’d read this wrong, and in that case, he was giving out a few too many secrets. The best he could do to salvage the situation was get the hell out of here before the prince had a chance to ask more questions.

Which was why he headed straight for the doors, his willpower and training the only things standing in the way of him sprinting for it instead. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he was going to let go any further, royal company or otherwise.

“Hey, wait a second!” Noctis called just as Prompto reached the entrance, grabbing him by the arm to stop him in his tracks.

With anyone else, Prompto would have kept going. He would have shrugged them off--or punched them, which would have made Loqi either happier or ticked depending on the day--and kept on going. This was a prince, though. More importantly, it was the prince who’d purchased the clothes he was wearing and the food in his stomach and the camera in his hand. There was nothing he could do if that prince wanted him to stay, whatever the circumstances.

But he didn’t have to talk.  

For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, neither willing to give up any more than they already had. Then, as Prompto was beginning to think (or hope, really) that the prince would let the matter lie and suggest they head downstairs, he muttered uncomfortably, “Look, you can’t just drop something like that and take off. Besides, you need my key to get on the elevator, anyway.”

Oh. Right. There was also that.

Noctis’s tentative smile faded almost instantly, however. “Come on, help me out. My dad turned over those territories thinking our people would be safer that way. We have to know what we just turned them over _to_. Specs figured serving so young was an orphan thing, but I guess that’s only half true. Isn’t it?”  

That was one way of putting it. Orphans ended up in the service all the time, although it didn’t much matter for any of them whether they had family somewhere or not. Once they were bought and paid for, it was none of their business. They lost whatever their parents’ names had been; they lost whatever memories they might have retained for those first few weeks or months. In his case, he’d been too young to remember anything at all, which was fine by him. Remembering meant missing, and missing wasn’t something you wanted to do if you expected to live long in the imperial army. As far as he was concerned, he was just as much an orphan as anyone else in his unit--they might as well be when the best they were going to get as a caretaker was some crusty old fart sitting on the throne of Niflheim.

The prince didn’t need to know that, even if he _did_ seem to be guessing pretty close to the mark. What was Prompto supposed to do, though? Tell him everything? Spill his guts and hope Noctis showed him pity instead of taking him to his father to give away some more secrets? No way. Maybe his commander wasn’t here, but there was no telling whether Drautos was listening in somehow. Prompto wouldn’t put it past the guy to be hanging from the roof above them or something.

Suddenly, it was _really_ hard not to look up.

Noctis held his gaze, however, so Prompto did his best not to search for his shadow as he shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. What he ended up saying wasn’t a lie necessarily, yet it sure wasn’t anywhere near the truth. Still, it was more than he should be telling the guy, so they would have to call it even.

“We do what we gotta do.”

_Smooth._

Where he half expected the prince to get angry over the fact that he was gleaning nothing out of this conversation—or so he hoped—Noctis merely seemed more concerned than anything else. Well, maybe not entirely: there was an astute shrewdness to his gaze that Prompto couldn’t help but notice.

“So, _this_ ”—Noctis gestured vaguely—“is this what you want, or are you just _doing what you gotta do_?”

That… That wasn’t the point. That was totally _missing_ the point—it was so far from the point that they probably couldn’t even find it on a map. What did _wanting_ have to do with it? They _all_ had to do what was necessary, princes and kings included. They were born into their positions just like Prompto had been purchased into his. Noctis could hate his life—he could hate what he was meant to be, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. That was why Prompto had never bothered regretting his path: when he had no other choice, there was no point.

How could this guy go through his entire life and _not_ get that? Being who he was and all?

It wasn’t Prompto’s job to teach him, though. He’d learned the tough lessons on his own, and the prince could do the same. They weren’t friends. He didn’t get to hear about Prompo’s so-called _wants_.

They weren’t friends. They _weren’t._

So, he simply shook his head, backed away a step, and insisted, “That’s not important.”

“It _is_ important,” Noctis insisted, almost _pleading_ from the sound of it. That just couldn’t be possible, though. What business did the prince of Lucis have appealing to someone like _him_?

None.

“Look,” he continued with a frustrated huff when he appeared to realize Prompto wasn’t buying it. Much as he tried, however, he couldn’t quite convince himself that it was false earnestness that had Noctis offering, “If you _didn’t_ want to go back and be their property or...whatever you are there, then maybe we could figure something out. I mean, if you _want_ to go back, I wouldn’t force you not to. _No one_ should force you. It should be your choice what you do with your own life. So...yeah, what you want to do _is_ important.”

At that, Prompto could only stare. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the prince was genuinely invested in his answer. But that was insane: Lucis had lost, the treaty was signed, and anything Prompto could tell them was useless. Probably. Anyway, the point was that if the prince thought he was going to get anything from this act, he was sadly mistaken.

Unless…

Unless it wasn’t a game.

This was the guy who spent a day with kids to...spend a day with kids. He’d spent more money than Prompto wanted to think about on clothes and cameras for an enemy.

He was...Noctis.

Maybe he seemed so overly invested because he was just _that_ kind of guy.

Prompto wasn't. Not wanting to go back to the empire? He hadn’t thought about it in so long he couldn’t remember the last time.

That being the case, he ducked his head and scuffed his boot against the flagstones. It wasn’t an offer he could take. His life was the empire’s, not his. Choice was a lot of fun when it was food, but… Noctis didn’t know what he was holding out to him here. Nothing was that easy.

_Life_ wasn’t that easy, and a prince should have known that better than anyone.

“Uh… Sure. If… If you say so,” Prompto eventually muttered.

“Think about it,” Noctis implored him. “If you don’t want to go back, we can make it happen.”

The _somehow_ was implied, but Prompto didn’t call him on it. Rather, he kept his eyes locked on the ground between them and nodded tersely. Whether the prince could tell he was coming on too strong for him to handle or just interpreted his silence as the _we’ll see_ that it definitely wasn’t, he didn’t press further. With a shrug, he forced a smile and seemed to aim for some levity instead.

“Of course, I can’t say I have any good ideas to keep you here. I’d probably have to talk to my dad or Ignis. Otherwise, we’d basically be hiding you in a room until we can convince the empire you died from too many onion rings or something.”

Against his better judgment, Prompto couldn’t help barking an unsteady laugh at that. “What a way to go.”

“Seriously, it’s gotta be the best, right?” chuckled Noctis, nodding towards the door and fiddling with the card key in his hand. His smile turned regretful when he inquired, “Guess you probably wanna head back down, huh?”

Nodding in the affirmative wasn’t a total lie, although Prompto glanced over his shoulder longingly as the sun slipped behind the wall entirely and night began to fall over Insomnia. Now wasn’t the time for pictures, and if the prince was to be believed, maybe he’d get other opportunities.

_Whoa, don’t even go there. That’s so not gonna happen._

It was a nice gesture-- _if_ it was as genuine as it seemed--but Prompto harbored no illusions as he followed Noctis into the elevator and watched him hit the button for Prompto’s floor. Nothing they could do would keep him from the empire if they were determined to have him back. They _weren’t_ ; he was as expendable as any of the other grunts in Gralea. Still, if Loqi came pounding on the Citadel’s doors and said he wanted his fake captain, they would need to give him up. No amount of hiding him in a room or saying he fell into a food-induced coma was going to get him out of it. If anything, they’d expect to see a body and then haul that back to the empire for whatever it was they did to people who failed to be of any use.

Prompto didn’t tell him that, though. He merely thanked Noctis under his breath and slipped out of the lift, following the corridor back to his room and only heaving a sigh of relief when he was safely locked inside. From there, he simply tried to put the entire conversation out of his mind as he hurriedly strode to his chest of drawers and yanked the top one open in search of something he could wear after a much needed shower that would hopefully steam the rest of his traitorous thoughts from his head.

And that was where he froze, his fingers trembling and his mouth agape when he saw that it wasn’t just the sweatpants and T-shirt the prince had bought him waiting to be found. Sure, they were there, but sitting on top was the one thing that could drag him down to earth, the one thing that could effective strike away everything they’d been talking about and all the silly ideas Noctis had put in his head.

Because sitting on top was a heavy, loaded, and obviously Lucian-made gun.


	13. Strange Circumstances

Niflheim’s status as complete garbage wasn’t exactly news to Noctis. He had known that something stank within the ranks of the imperial army long before Ignis pulled him aside at the aquarium and informed him that Prompto appeared to have some pretty disturbing misconceptions about why it was they were there. 

The reality of the situation, however, was  _ way  _ off the mark from what he had been expecting. How could anyone have anticipated the truth Prompto that had unintentionally let slip a few minutes ago? Kids getting bought and paid for by the empire to build their army? In Lucis, that kind of thing didn’t exist. The closest they could even imagine was Ignis’s theory that orphaned children were conscripted to serve, and even that was a stretch. It left a bitter taste in Noctis’s mouth, but he had managed to convince himself that it couldn’t be all bad. Food and shelter had to be provided, and he assumed that after a certain period, they were either free to remain part of the military or reenter society. That they could make a home and a life for themselves if that was what they chose.

_ Wrong. _

While Noctis guessed that he was still lacking a few details, he knew enough to say that with absolute surety. Prompto had thought they were  _ purchasing  _ the kids, that they were there for some kind of recruitment assessment as if they were scouting prospects for the Crownsguard. Normal people didn’t think about that sort of thing; normal people didn’t look at children and think  _ potential soldiers _ . With that one admission, any pretense that the imperial military was filled with mere orphans had instantly melted away. There had to be an exchange of money; the empire had to buy them from someone. That meant either people were snatching up stray children on the street and handing them over for some quick coin or, the more likely scenario, that families were actively selling their children off for cash. 

Noctis leaned back against the elevator wall as it ascended towards his chambers and breathed deeply, forcing aside the throbbing headache behind his eyes so he could focus on the shit storm in his brain. 

Of course, that just hailed in a whole new headache. If Niflheim’s soldiers were all purchased by the empire, then they were nothing like Lucian warriors. Here, those who protected their borders were revered, their bravery and sacrifice respected as they willingly laid down their lives in pursuit of safeguarding others. Here, even the lowest guards were held in high regard, all candidates who had enlisted and wanted to serve of their own volition. In a place where there was no volunteering, where there was no choice in the matter, that couldn’t be the case. Soldiers had to be as good as a product there— _ property _ of the emperor, which explained why Prompto got so weird all the time about Noctis telling him what to do even in jest. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if they didn’t even get paid for their efforts, especially not soldiers on Prompto’s level. Maybe Loqi, with his ridiculous sense of entitlement, but definitely not Prompto. If he did, he wouldn’t have had an aneurysm over a cheap shirt. 

Suddenly, everything they had been wondering about their enemies since long before the imperial contingent had arrived was coming into sharp focus. His conversation with Prompto explained more than the latter could ever know, namely why the empire had been able to throw body after body at the Glaives in every battle seemingly without a care for the consequences, logistically or morally. Noctis had suspected that Niflheim didn’t think much of those who served them, but now it made sense: they were simply getting their money’s worth. The loss of life meant nothing to them when they could keep buying new recruits to fill their spots.

Expendable. They were all expendable.

If that was the truth--and it seemed like it was--Noctis couldn’t just hand Prompto back over when his term at the Citadel expired. He couldn’t just let the guy go back to Niflheim to be used and abused and then thrown away, probably with that stupid smile on his face because he clearly didn’t know any better. Noctis simply  _ couldn’t  _ let it happen, not without at least giving him the choice to stay—the choice to decide on something better. 

So, he’d have to find a way to provide his shadow—no, his new friend—with a viable option. Something more agreeable than shoving him in a closet and hoping the empire didn't look too hard. 

As if that was going to happen. If there was anything the negotiations had taught Noctis about Niflheim, it was that they didn’t give up  _ anything _ easily, whether they actually wanted it or not. Loqi’s obvious distaste aside, chances were that they would be less than thrilled about one of their captains staying in Lucis instead of returning to servitude, especially when he was carrying knowledge of their military apparatus. Plus, beyond that, they  _ had _ paid for him. 

Noctis sighed heavily. If it had been any other nation, he might have written the whole thing off as too immoral to be true. But this was  _ Niflheim _ . They were constantly setting the low bar for morality. 

This was more complicated than Noctis had counted on. It was more than what he could have anticipated—what any of them could have anticipated—and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was going to need some serious help when the elevator dropped him on his floor. As such, he was actually relieved to discover that his friends were waiting for him when he stepped into to his apartment and shut the door behind him. 

“You see?” Ignis preempted him, glancing over the papers he was sifting through on the couch. “I told you he wouldn’t be pushed off the roof.”

Gladio didn’t bother looking up from the Cup Noodles he’d pilfered from the pantry, although Noctis could tell he was  _ really _ trying hard not to. Instead, he snorted into his second lunch. (Early dinner? Whatever.)

“Good,” he shot back once he was finished slurping up a forkful. “I ain’t cleanin’ that up.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. In spite of their jokes, it was pretty obvious to him that his venture to the observation deck had worried them more than they were letting on. Maybe they hadn’t thought he’d be shoved over the edge, but they had to have harbored a few reservations about leaving him alone with an alleged enemy at that height without his Shield to catch him. They had shown an impressive amount of trust, letting him go on his own, no precautionary pair of eyes waiting in the wings. Even though it went against his very nature, figured they deserved a few words of thanks.

Correction: a few  _ smart-ass _ words of thanks.

“You guys are  _ hilarious,”  _ Noctis deadpanned, dropping onto the sofa next to Ignis. “Come on, if he pushed me, I would have warped.”

Maybe it was just him, but Ignis’s raised eyebrow wasn’t exactly the epitome of confidence. He could already tell what his chamberlain was thinking: it was a seriously long drop, and Noctis hadn’t warped  _ that _ far before.

He could’ve done it, though. He  _ could’ve. _

Rather than debate it, he hurried to press on, “Anyway, mission accomplished. Sorta. I figured out what his deal was with all the weird comments he made today.”

That one got their attention, although Ignis was clearly attempting not to seem too eager. The two of them shared an inscrutable glance before he straightened, setting his documents to the side and giving Noctis his full attention. Asking Gladio to do the same with his meal wouldn’t have been wise, so neither he nor Noctis bothered. That was probably for the best: with his precious Cup Noodles in hand, he wouldn’t be as tempted to put his fist through a wall. 

Or a face. That would have been pretty bad as well. 

“I see,” Ignis murmured, prompting him to continue with a gesture.  “What might that be?”

“Turns out your orphan idea wasn’t that far off.”

Humming, Ignis replied, “It seemed the most logical assumption.”

Noctis couldn’t help but agree, even though the rest didn’t exactly adhere to what  _ logic _ would dictate to be true. Shaking his head in frustration, he continued, “Prompto said soldiers in Niflheim aren’t  _ just _ orphans, though. The emperor seriously  _ buys  _ them, like property or something. That’s what he thought we were doing today.”

“The hell did he think, that we were writing checks while the kids looked at the fish?” scoffed Gladio. Apparently they’d reached a point where even he couldn’t stick his head in the sand—or Cup Noodles, to be more precise. His favorite snack was quickly abandoned on the counter as he stomped around the island to stand before them, arms folded and eyebrows shaking hands with his hairline.

“Basically,” confirmed Noctis with a shrug. 

That did nothing for his Shield’s mood. He was actually  _ speechless _ for a second, the first Noctis had ever witnessed, before he seemed to find the words for what he wanted to say next.

“How does Aldercapt decide who he’s gonna take? A bunch of kids don’t exactly know enough to impress anybody yet.”

“No idea,” Noctis answered helplessly. “He...kind of freaked out when I told him that isn’t what we do here, so I didn’t get much after that.”

Ignis shook his head, sighing, “I highly doubt it matters who they recruit. Our intelligence has always shown that the empire keeps a great number of soldiers at their disposal. If what Prompto indicated is true, then it’s apparent that they favor quantity over quality. They may not be so particular about their cannon fodder.”

_ If  _ it was true. 

Noctis quickly swallowed his indignation before he could remark on Ignis’s uncertainty. As much as he didn’t like admitting it, he understood what they had been trying to tell him all this time: he  _ had _ been pushing his luck sympathizing with Prompto, and fighting about it would only make things worse. Although he thought they could trust Prompto in spite of his origins, there wasn’t any denying the fact that they were playing with fire. Besides, it wasn’t that his friends were taking this lightly; neither of them would ever be so callous as to believe this kind of practice was acceptable, not in Lucis or anywhere else. The problem was that they were putting  _ his _ interests first, not the countless lives at stake outside the Wall. They were both too damn good at making him the priority. Sure, there was a reason for it—he  _ was _ a prince and all—but sometimes Noctis hated just how well they did their jobs nevertheless. 

Clearly interpreting his silence as a cue to continue, Ignis added with a cautious frown, “While their methods are distasteful, you must realize that it changes nothing. Prompto may indeed be all the more dangerous as a result. If he was... _ purchased _ by the empire and has been in their care since such an early age, then he has no doubt been conditioned to follow their orders without question. Logically speaking, he wouldn’t know anything else.”

“Which means he’s definitely not playing any games with that innocent act,” snorted Gladio, rolling his eyes. That brought a wry smirk to Ignis’s lips.

“So it would seem. I’d wager that his enchantment with the Crown City is as genuine as ours, if a bit more...enthusiastic.”

“Real subtle, Iggy.”

“Thank you.”

Levity aside, nothing they said was a lie. The fact that Noctis absolutely hated it didn’t change that. For one thing, it certainly explained why Prompto seemed more rattled than elated by the offer to stay. After all, what was he supposed to do, leave everything he knew behind because he liked burgers? No way. Whether it sucked or not, the empire was his home, at least in his eyes. It couldn’t be easy to consider never going back, no matter how much you hated the place. If he did, though, if he chose Niflheim over Lucis… Noctis didn’t want to think about what would happen. He didn’t want to fathom the possibility that he would need to fight Prompto one day—that he would need to fight  _ any _ Niff one day. Now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t imagine taking them down when they weren’t actually given a choice. Yeah, he’d do what he could to defend his kingdom and his friends, but killing Prompto would be like killing a civilian—unacceptable.

If only there were a way to get him to talk, to get him to  _ stay _ so they could sort this out...

“Noct?”

Starting slightly, Noctis blinked at Ignis where the latter was watching, a crease between his eyebrows. His tone wasn’t without sympathy, although there was a distinctly suspicious twist to his lips when he asked, “Is there more?”

_ Leave it to Ignis. _

Whether it was sensing when he snuck out or catching wind of his concerns, he never could hide anything from his chamberlain. The guy could read him like a book, which was only to be expected given how long they’d been friends. It was still annoying, though. 

There was no delaying the inevitable, however, so Noctis didn’t bother attempting it. He merely sighed, folding his arms over his chest and admitting, “I told him that if he didn’t want to go back, I’d figure something out, but…I don’t know how.” 

A beat of silence—two—three—

“You did what now?”

Okay, so he wasn’t going to get past Gladio that easily. At least he didn’t look anywhere near as upset at the idea as he would have been a week ago, though. That was progress, right?

“I said, I—“

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you,” his Shield grumbled, hands on his hips as he paced across the room. When he turned, his expression was stony. “You seriously think the king’s gonna go for that? He’s already worried enough that this kid’s gonna try to put a knife in your back. That little confession of his doesn’t exactly inspire confidence that he won’t.”

“I know, but what else was I supposed to do?” Noctis groaned and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Just be like  _ that sucks, see you later _ ?” 

He knew well enough that neither Gladio nor Ignis would have expected that from him, not under these kinds of circumstances. If anything, they might have been disappointed in him if he  _ had _ . Talk about less than royal behavior—less than  _ human _ , really.

It was that more than their duty that he appealed to when he wheedled, “He’d probably listen to you guys, though. I mean, if you backed me up on the whole  _ not going to stab me _ thing with my dad.”

“A vote of confidence might be a step in the right direction,” Ignis conceded pensively. “I’m not so sure much can be done to keep him here if the empire means to retrieve him, however. Any resistance on our part could damage our newly-formed relations.”

“And bring a hell of a lot of trouble down on us when we’re vulnerable as it is,” added Gladio darkly.

Noctis thought he might know that better than anyone, not that he wouldn’t still like to say to hell with Niflheim and their stupid treaty. When push came to shove, he couldn’t risk the welfare of the entire kingdom just to save one person. At least, not that way. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try to find another one, right? It would be a drop in the bucket in terms of critical thinking at this point. Ignis would be so proud.

If he knew, which he  _ didn’t,  _ and Noctis was determined to keep it that way.

Besides, the empire retaliating and attacking would actually be playing into Noctis’s plans. If the army came marching in to take back their errant captain, then he’d be able to put them down with no problem thanks to his newfound abilities. The real issue wasn’t so much Niflheim’s interference as it was that he couldn’t very well use that reasoning on Gladio and Ignis. 

And especially not on his father. 

“Yeah, I get that,” Noctis admitted. “All the more reason to mention it to my dad. Maybe I can’t save Prompto, but Dad’s at least got to know about what the empire’s up to. What if they start buying kids in the outer territories?”

Grunting in acknowledgement, Gladio commiserated, “Ain’t like there’s a shortage of kids whose parents died in the war.”

“Exactly. They’re the perfect targets, and they’re  _ our  _ people no matter what the treaty says.”

“In theory,” clarified his Shield before he could get too far. “In practice, there’s no way you’ll convince the Niffs of that. They treat everyone just as bad as their own and don’t care where they come from.”

“That’s without mentioning the fact that the treaty effectively ties our hands,” interjected Ignis, ever the optimist. 

Noctis hummed in response. If he had his way, worries about any more children being sold off as imperial bait would be a moot point. The idea of getting one more soldier out of their clutches would be all he needed to take action. After all, Niflheim had already conquered the majority of the known world. They could hardly need a fresh batch of infants when they didn’t have much more competition to stand up to them. For all they knew, their concerns were unfounded; the empire might simply roll in and do whatever it was they did back in Gralea.

But that wouldn’t help Prompto. He was already stuck with them and had been for too long to be good for the guy. It was always possible that Ignis and Gladio were right, that there was no way they could stop Niflheim from returning for a tool they’d sunk plenty of money into training and raising. Not unless…

Unless...

“What if we faked his death?” Noctis blurted out after a moment of silence. 

Ignis frowned in thought, obviously picking apart the idea before he opened his mouth to make promises he couldn’t keep. The way things were going lately, Noctis couldn’t blame him: none of them could be certain of anything, so it wasn’t worth making commitments to half-baked schemes. Or less than that—he was still shopping for ingredients at this point. 

“While that isn’t necessarily an unreasonable prospect, it  _ does _ have the potential of earning the empire’s ire all the same. I doubt they will look fondly on the admission that one of their own met his end on Lucian soil so soon after the peace proceedings,” he mused a moment later, slow and calculating and definitely avoiding any outright decisions.

It was enough, though.

“But if their soldiers are a dime a dozen, they might not raise a stink, especially if they’re already getting what they really want.”

“Assuming they only want control of the surrounding area and not Insomnia someday,” countered Ignis. 

Okay, he had a point. Regardless, Noctis pressed on, “It’s got to be worth suggesting to my dad, though, right? Getting Prompto on our side could be the key to taking back what we’re losing, and he’s the only person who can protect him from the empire.”

“Think he’s got enough on his plate without having to worry about that,” observed Gladio. 

_ Damn… _

In moments like this, he hated how logical his friends-slash-retainers were. In moments like this, however, he also had the perfect trump card on his side:  _ he _ was the prince, not them.

So, straightening his shoulders, Noctis replied, “Then I’ll do whatever I can to help. Dealing with Prompto  _ is _ my job, isn’t it?”

For a second, he thought for sure that it wasn’t going to work. Gladio’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tight. Ignis wasn’t much better: while he didn’t seem so closed to the idea, it was pretty clear that he didn’t like the implications either. Noctis could understand that, especially given where they had to be coming from. Their goal was keeping him safe, not letting him stick his neck out for someone they’d met barely a couple of weeks ago. In their eyes, nothing was more important than maintaining the status quo where their guest was concerned so that the empire didn’t have any excuse to ream them harder than they already had in those negotiations.

But wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t showing weakness by not doing anything essentially making them no better than their enemies? Accordo and Tenebrae had survived countless indignities at the hands of the emperor, yet they hadn’t faltered for a second. They kept going, and Lucis would have to do the same.

_ Without _ compromising their morals.

Gladio must have realized the same thing, because his uncertainty eventually bled away so that his usual smirk could find its way to the surface. Although Noctis wouldn’t say it was approval, it was definitely a start.

“Looks like you’ll have to put your skills to the test, Prince Charmless,” he teased, even if there was an underlying tinge of concern in his tone that Noctis couldn’t ignore. “Gonna take a lot of diplomatic convincing to get the king to agree to this one.”

 

***

 

Regis had heard a great many assertions varying in degrees of inanity for thirty years. It seemed as though everyone was determined to outdo the last, offering him alleged insight or information that he found was of little use besides lining his bin so that more important matters would not stain it with fresh ink. Such was the unfortunate nature of ruling: his position meant sifting through an inordinate amount of nonsense in order to grasp the deeper dimensions of the issue at hand. That part was necessary, whether he assigned the task to a retainer or took a personal interest in the situation instead. There were only so many hours in a day, and he was left with few enough of them that what he could claim for himself was frequently devoted to more pleasurable exploits. Of course, the older he grew, the more common it was that those exploits were limited to a walk in the gardens or sleeping later than he had when he was a young king. If it kept him from filling his head with the mindless drivel of those who did not care to discern the difference between a true problem and a mere nuisance, then it was worthwhile. He’d already put a good bit of time into fielding inconsequential requests.

That being said, his son’s latest idea put all the rest to shame.

There was no need to ask Noctis to repeat himself like Regis nearly did, nor was he at all concerned that he may have heard him wrong. After all, Ignis had mentioned a vague concern with his son’s proximity to the captain from Niflheim, and no one had to tell him that Noctis acted with his heart more often than his head. He had been that way since he was a child, befriending his future advisor without question and butting heads with his Shield despite his awareness of the expectations placed on both of them. When he witnessed an injustice, such as the meager conditions Regis could hardly combat amongst the refugees that had flooded into Insomnia over the years as the empire closed in, he acted immediately. There was no thought given to logistics much of the time, the details left to Ignis or Gladiolus or whoever else might step in to assist. It was a characteristic Regis had always admired in his son without fail.

Well, until now. He couldn’t say that he was altogether pleased with what he was hearing when Noctis divulged his suspicions and intelligence over dinner. 

The depth of his uncertainty was not one dimensional at all: while his son’s safety was still foremost in his mind and of his priorities, there was a tragic quality to the captain’s past that struck a nerve with Regis. That was, after all, the fate he had been endeavoring to save his people from before the war turned against them. That was the destiny he had hoped to keep from reaching towards them, shackling the young and crushing the old. How could he not have entertained such worries when the empire had knocked on their door more than once during his reign and countless times during his father’s? 

Noctis’s account of things was by no means a surprise, much as Regis wished it were otherwise. What little they had gleaned from spies in Niflheim did not paint a flattering picture of their  _ former _ enemies. They were calculating and oftentimes cruel; they were utilitarian to a fault and blind to the human emotions of their people. It was no surprise, then, that they were capable of stealing infants from their parents and turning them into killing machines that would inevitably be lost to the fires of war.

Ah, but what was he saying? While Aldercapt was certainly  _ capable _ of robbing cradles, Regis doubted that that was the case here. If there was one thing the negotiations had solidified, it was that the empire was an entirely detached society, more so than they had been in years past. Whether it was their people or their government, the weak were held in no regard so long as they stood in the way of survival. Perhaps Noctis did not have any evidence of it himself; Regis supposed he would have mentioned it in his diatribe if he did. That did not mean that his own suspicions were not accurate, however. That did not mean that he was wrong in assuming the worst, not when all signs pointed in the same callous and unthinkable direction.

For what kind of parent would sell their own child for the funds to carry on?

It was not a question he was willing to share with his son. No, he would consult Clarus after dinner. After all, his Shield was his most trusted advisor and faithful confidant. There was no one else in the world Regis could think to commiserate with, although he doubted they would do so for long. There was too much to be done to wallow in regret for the people who would be impacted by the treaty, the people he had failed to protect and therefore sent careening into the clutches of the empire. That would haunt him for the rest of his life regardless, so it wasn’t worth dwelling on now.

What  _ did _ absorb his attention was Noctis’s fervor, his absolute surety that this captain—this  _ boy _ , for all intents and purposes—meant him no harm. Indeed, he went a step further to claim that he was no threat to Lucis, of which Regis was skeptical at best. He did not scold him, however; he did not point out that someone who had spent so many years in the empire’s employ was more a threat than anything else. If he was going to encourage Noctis to think for himself and follow his intuition like any good king should, then to do so would be inadvisable.

That wasn’t to say that he was so easily convinced, though.

“You’ve learned an extraordinary amount in the time the captain has been with us,” Regis complimented him, his tone lacking some of the enthusiasm it might have had under different circumstances. “I believe the community project yesterday was a step in the right direction if you intend to earn his trust.”

By all accounts, Noctis looked more ashamed than proud of his accomplishment. He met Regis’s eyes only for a moment before renewing his efforts to move the dreaded asparagus stalks as far away from his barramundi filet as possible. How amazing it was to be a father: the duality of his son’s behavior was so staggering that even the gravity of the situation could not erase it. In one moment, he was a grown adult pressing forward along the path to his inevitable destiny; in another, Regis could only see the child that had steadfastly refused to eat anything remotely resembling a vegetable. It would have made him laugh if not for the subject of the conversation.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, he  _ did _ think we were there to…” Noctis trailed off, spearing his carrots and carelessly depositing them next to the other offending sustenance. 

The pregnant pause was telling, and Regis subtly reflected on Noctis’s mannerisms since he had arrived for dinner in realization. Initially, he had assumed that the nature of the captain’s disadvantage was what set his son at ease, but now he was not so certain. There was infinitely more to the conversation he had shared with the imperial envoy than met the eye, and for some reason, he was reluctant to include Regis in the majority of it as far as he could tell. Bristling in dismay, he nevertheless refrained from commenting. If it was important, he would mention it. If it was important, his duty would dictate that he must report the information.

If it was important, then he must have enlightened Ignis, and that was as good as hearing it from Noctis’s own mouth anyway. 

For now, he allowed his son a moment to collect his thoughts, raising an eyebrow when Noctis’s gaze met his again. In the depths of his eyes, Regis spied the same determination he had exuded the night he wished to commune with the Draconian, albeit with fewer nerves. 

“I know he’s one of them and we can’t really do anything about the treaty now that it’s signed and all,” he began, his tone firm and altogether regal, “but isn’t there something we can do to help him?”

Something they could do? Well, there were certainly many paths that could be taken when it came to their imperial guest, none of which ended in the manner he supposed Noctis meant. Given the circumstances, Regis had not thought to make contingency plans for his son’s stalker. 

_ How very surprising _ , he thought wryly, although he did not quash Noctis’s hopes by voicing his musings. This was a serious inquiry, and as such, Regis needed to afford it serious consideration.

Hate it though he may.

It was lucky, then, that his hands were tied in this instance. As sympathetic as he felt towards the captain’s plight, Regis could not claim to be fond of the notion of treating him as a rescued refugee either. For one thing, becoming a  _ captain  _ likely meant he had engaged in behavior unbefitting a candidate for asylum in Lucis; for another, there was no telling how deeply that behavior ran in his veins, with or without a commander present to trigger it. None of that even began to take into account the proximity Noctis kept to this dilemma. Unless they were able to learn more about the captain, unless they were able to validate his tale as the truth, Regis was reluctant to offer him shelter. Stories and empathy were all well and good— _ lies _ , however, were the medium of the empire. Perhaps the captain was being honest about his origins, but the rest? There was no way to be certain, and Regis would be damned if he offered refugee status to one who would sooner betray them than thank Noctis for his kindness.

But it was a moot argument: the emperor would eventually want his plaything returned to Niflheim, and there was no bargaining chip left at Regis’s disposal besides Insomnia and the Crystal itself. Those, clearly, were of too much value to be traded for the life of one soldier. The Kingsglaive had learned that long ago, as had the Crownsguard.

And so would Noctis.

While his concerns were multifaceted, Regis nevertheless could not so easily bring himself to crush his son’s hopeful expression where the latter was waiting for his response. There would be plenty of time to discuss the logistics of international affairs another time. In this case, he was willing to tread lightly.

“I’m afraid we have little with which to parley on his behalf,” Regis carefully replied, deliberate and filled with remorse for the reaction he was bound to receive. “Should Emperor Aldercapt seek to remove him to Niflheim, we are bound by the tenets of the treaty. I cannot intervene, not when he is not of Lucian descent.”

As he had anticipated, that wasn’t the answer that Noctis had been hoping for, and a frustrated crease appeared between his brows. 

“Who cares where someone comes from?” he blurted out, his outburst colored by his obvious passion. He seemed to belatedly realize how his demeanor might be interpreted, because he pursed his lips with an apologetic glance at Regis not two seconds later. Now he thought he understood why it was that his son had been concerned with his friends’ assessments of the captain and his own plans: it was this sort of defense of their guest that had earned their scrutiny.

While Regis was tempted to offer his input, however, he chose instead to hold his tongue and let Noctis work through this on his own. It was admittedly a childish question: where someone hailed from had  _ everything _ to do with the matter. Warring nations did not suddenly befriend one another; that was why they were all so keenly aware of what the empire was doing behind their borders. Similarly, a prince and an enemy combatant did not suddenly become friends. It was all relative, but the factor that influenced it all was where they were born. Regis wished that were not so, yet he had learned with age that changing the nature of people’s thoughts was like catching wind in the palm of his hand: impossible.

That was a lesson Noctis would have to learn in time, so Regis waited while he silently searched for a more diplomatic manner in which to present his position. It was not uncommon for him to jump in with his heart on his sleeve, allowing royal protocol to fall by the wayside. 

“Just… Knowing that?” Noctis began, a bit more reserved. “I don’t think I would feel right just handing him over like he’s a ladder we borrowed. I know we can’t risk everything for one person, but...” 

His son trailed off with a one-shouldered shrug, although Regis thought he knew precisely what Noctis was trying to say. It was exactly what Regis would have hoped for if reality wasn’t so determined to pit man against man. 

“It doesn’t seem like any of them had a chance to start with. I thought we could give him one and tell the empire he died or something,” added Noctis with a vague gesture.

The smile that stretched across Regis’s lips was thin and tired but genuine nonetheless. What he wouldn’t give to agree, to allow his son to take the opportunity and discover the consequences on his own, for good or ill. 

But he couldn’t. Not when he had a kingdom and his child’s safety to consider. Perhaps Noctis was prepared to dive into the unknown, but Regis had to be both king and father.

When would he have to stop begging the Astrals’ forgiveness for the decisions he was forced to make?

“It would be considered suspicious if he were to perish while in our care,” Regis observed remorsefully. “Emperor Aldercapt would doubtless send investigators to ensure that his passing was by no fault of our own, and even then, they would likely fabricate some story we could not debate.”

That was the way of things in the empire.

“Right,” Noctis muttered, deflating a bit in his seat. Of course, Regis doubted it would be so simple to assuage his concerns. While Noctis had been content to concede a loss with regards to extra training sessions or council meetings in the past, this was certainly not something he would be prepared to shrug off. His heart was too predominant for that.

For his part, Regis could understand that. Sending a potential victim to continue a life of servitude was not something to take lightly, and Noctis had always been mindful of those less fortunate than himself. As such, it would have been a bit out of character for him to shrug off his determination in spite of the fact that it would make their current predicament more manageable if he did. That was encouraging, his son being guided so selflessly by such a strong moral compass regardless of whether there was an acceptable solution. 

That was sadly the more frequent case. There were times in which sacrifices had to be made for the good of the kingdom. It was not always an easy choice or even a tolerable one, and Regis regretted that this realization had to be thrust upon Noctis now. Still, as the future king, he would need to learn to make these difficult decisions; he would need to grow accustomed to not sleeping as well at night for the ghosts of those he could not help. 

There was no telling how long Regis would be there to help him bear the burden.

As it stood, his son was reluctant to be taught, and his resolve was on full display when he suggested, “Maybe he could run. We wouldn’t have to stop him.”

“Noctis,” sighed Regis. His son, however, carried on as though he had not spoken.

“Who knows how much of a head start he could get before the Niffs even made it here? There are plenty of places to hide outside of Insomnia.”

He obviously hadn’t thought that idea through, and Regis grimaced as he pointed out, “Everything beyond the Wall is under the jurisdiction of the empire. To send him from the Crown City  _ is _ to return him to Niflheim.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Noctis groaned in frustration. “But how much time and resources can they really dedicate to finding  _ one _ guy when they treat them all like they’re expendable anyway? If he stayed hidden long enough to come back to the city, or—”

Noctis curtailed himself, obviously realizing that course of action would have its own dangerous repercussions without Regis reminding him. That, at least, was progress.

But it didn’t stop him from murmuring, “I don’t want to leave someone at their mercy again.” 

Doubtless he did not mean to, but the insinuation struck Regis straight through the heart. It had been twelve years since Fenestala Manor had joined the rest of Tenebrae under imperial domination, and not a day went by when he didn’t consider that there was more he could have done. Little Luna had made her intent quite clear: she would not leave without her brother, nor would she abandon her home. Even at that young age, she had acquired an admirable devotion to her people. That being the case, Regis could not blame her for her decision, although that did not mean he felt any better about his own choice. Ultimately, there hadn’t been much of one, if he was being honest. The empire hadn’t come for the Oracle’s family—they had come for Regis’s. They had come for Noctis, and he could not abide that. It was for that reason that he had kept running, that he had gotten his son to safety even at the expense of some of his own guards. 

And it was for that reason that Regis could not grant Noctis’s request now. Perhaps it made him a poor excuse for a man and king alike, but he would forsake the world itself if it preserved his son’s well-being. The rest of Eos could burn so long as Noctis still drew breath.

Lunafreya had not been the first to be left behind, and she would not be the last.

“Your desires are admirable,” Regis commended him with all the genuine remorse he could muster. “As is the captain’s past regrettable. The peril inherent in this endeavor, however, does not outweigh the lives of those we have had to sacrifice for the sake of peace.”

That was putting it mildly: the countless lives outside the Wall were effectively lost to them, and Regis could only hope that they survived to hate him for it. 

As such, he could not bring himself to court Noctis’s ire as well. He could not bring himself to entirely quell the flame of righteousness that flickered in his son’s eyes, however unsubstantiated his sole offer would be.

“The captain is your responsibility during his stay. If you can formulate a plot to extricate him from his imperial duties without bringing the wrath of the emperor down upon us, and he is entirely  _ agreeable _ …then I will take the matter into further consideration.”

The small smile that Noctis graced him with had his heart twisting in his chest. It felt so cruel to give him any measure of hope when the likelihood of his venture coming to fruition was practically nonexistent. Even so, what Regis had told him was not a lie: the captain  _ would _ remain in his care until such a time as the empire saw fit to collect him. If pursuing this goal, however unlikely it was that he would be successful, was how Noctis planned to spend that time… Well, Regis would not speak ill of his motives. Call it a father’s pride or merely the echoes of his own past in the distance, when he had been brave enough to hold ideals. How wonderful it was to be young and so full of vibrant faith that everything would, in some way, turn out for the best.

Noctis was no exception, and his much brighter mood brought with it a slew of musings Regis thought perhaps wasn’t meant for him: “Maybe I can get some input from Prompto. He would know better than anyone how hard the empire looks for their toys. Plus, with Ignis weighing in, we’re bound to come up with something. Then there’s Gladio. He’s still not totally convinced, but I think he’s really coming around. Yesterday, the two of them were pra—“

The rest was lost on Regis, who merely smiled solemnly as he listened. Yes, it was glorious to be young. It was refreshing to grasp in both hands the fate of the world and believe that you played a greater role in changing it. Mortality was no object, nor was the potential for failure that those without experience seldom seemed to account for. 

Regis had learned years ago that such things were mere fool’s errands, that the weight of one’s inadequacies was enough to crush the spirit out of them before long. But then again, he had grown old. His youth had fled with the passage of time and waxing of his ring, and he could not claim to be the man who used to call himself by the same name. 

But Noctis was different. He had his whole life ahead of him, a road that he would fill with achievements and mistakes alike. All things considered, this was not the worst he could have devoted his time to.

Besides, his friends were with him. If this captain was indeed trustworthy, then there would be no problem. If he was not…

Well, the Amicitia line had never failed before.


	14. Middle Ground

This mission was the most important that anyone would ever undertake in the history of the Niflheim Empire. It was the glue that would hold them together when enemies sought to thwart them from all sides. It was the edge they would need in order to ensure their victory, their supremacy, their survival. It was the way that history would remember them: a nation of heroes. It was an honor and a privilege that few within the empire had warranted and even fewer had earned.

An honor and a privilege that was bestowed upon Prompto, Unit 05953234, F.M.P.F. Barracks.

That was what Loqi had told him the day he’d been pulled away from drills to meet with the emperor and that crazy chancellor of theirs. Prompto hadn’t really understood at the time why it was that they were hammering it into his head: he was _from_ Niflheim, so nobody knew the consequences of inaction better than him. There was no thriving without struggle, and no matter how much you kept to yourself, there would always be someone else who wanted to take what you had. When he was a kid, it was the other members of his unit, the ones who would have taken anything you managed to sneak for yourself and then ratted you out purely to get brownie points from the brass. As he’d gotten older, they weren’t so easy to distinguish. Adults were more subtle, especially the guys who wanted to _be_ the brass instead of simply reporting to them someday. They tended to fly under the radar so that you’d never see them coming, and honestly, it was no surprise. That was what they had been trained to do from the time they were too young to know what that meant. What they _had_ known was that you couldn’t trust anybody, that everyone in the world was out to snatch whatever you had to offer.

But hey, Prompto didn’t harbor any delusions that Niflheim was different in that regard. He’d seen it firsthand, how they would stab whoever they had to in the back to claim their prize. The empire hadn’t taken over most of the world without some dirty dealings, so it wasn’t like they held the high ground there. Control in the empire came from a combination of manipulation, underhanded deeds, and sheer dumb luck. It just went to show that sometimes, the best example was also the biggest perpetrator.

So, he’d gone along with the party line as always. They’d said their pieces, impressed upon him the importance of his task, and sent him to his inevitable doom. That was the way of things when you were on his side of the negotiation table. He had nothing to bargain with, which meant he was of no use. His best bet was to complete his mission, solidify the empire’s control of Lucis, and assume his rightful spot in the history of his people. Sure, they wouldn’t remember his name in a few years; the other guys in his unit would forget about him, and the books would say that it was the emperor’s clever mind that had earned them this victory. Still, he would have played a part in it, so he wasn’t about to complain.

That was then.

Now, two days after their stupid community outreach project and the prince’s offer to remain in Insomnia if he wanted, Prompto was pacing the length of his chambers as though wearing a hole in the floor might help him decide what to do. Staring at the gun he’d hidden beneath every article of clothing he possessed didn’t help. The mere sight of it had his heart racing and his breath coming in short spurts; thinking about it was almost as bad. Even when it wasn’t in front of his face, though, it was on his mind. His brain forced him to turn around every five seconds as though it was waiting right behind him, and when he dared to close his eyes and sleep, it was stalking him on the insides of his eyelids. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the thing was sentient, haunting his steps and trying to make him feel guilty over the mission Drautos had provided it for. But it was just a gun--it was an object. Objects held no power over them. That was what they had learned in training: objects could be used and then discarded, but they were not to be valued more highly than that. Impermanence was a fact of life. Attachment was a liability, not an asset.

So, what had he done? He’d gone and gotten attached. The worst part was that it wasn’t even the Citadel or his chambers or the food--none of it was all that important to him. They were great, yeah, but he was used to his old life. Returning to his barracks and eating the same nutrient bars he’d grown up on would be normal, not a hardship. Although he’d miss the privileges they’d offered him in Lucis, he’d feel more at home in that instance regardless, weird as that would have sounded to the Lucians.

That would have been an easy change. When had Prompto ever made things easy for himself?

Huffing a bitter laugh, he dropped onto the edge of his bed and snatched his camera from where he’d left it on top of the comforter that morning. Like his constant reminders of the firearm he was attempting to ignore, he’d vacillated between pacing and sifting through all the pictures he’d taken over the last few days in an attempt to...he wasn’t sure what. Make a decision? Make himself feel better? Make himself feel _worse_? It was all possible, but he didn’t have a solid answer as he turned on the power and scrolled through photo after photo.

Of everything Loqi had briefed him on before they’d left Gralea, _this_ was what he needed more information about, not the guard rotations and function of the Kingsglaive versus the Crownsguard. Those were simple things--they’d already learned about that stuff in training. Talk about a waste of time, going over it all again. What he’d needed was more practical, relevant instruction.

Like how to keep that stupid grin off his face when he pulled in a huge gulp of his milkshake.

Like how to see the dogs at the park as animals rather than objects of fascination.

Like how to ignore the blue light of the aquarium in favor of the more useful knowledge he could have gained there.

Like how to ignore the way the prince’s smile was never feigned, never ingenuine, never exaggerated. Like how to ignore the fact that everything he did was out of kindness, not expectation, and he never seemed to have ulterior motives. Like how to ignore Gladio’s grudging respect, Ignis’s growing acceptance, and Noctis’s apparent _trust_.

Yeah, see, Loqi hadn’t given him any protection against those things.

And here he was, reaping the rewards of coming in unprepared. Prompto’s head hadn’t been swimming this badly since he was a kid and their instructor had told them they needed to spend three days in survival training. Well, maybe not even then: that honor probably went to the last day away from the facility, when he’d found a nice cave to hide out in only to realize he had no food. Or extra clothes. Or anything else that was going to help him survive in the frozen wilderness surrounding Ghorovas. Yeah, _swimming_ was the best word he could think of for his consciousness when he considered the unmitigated mess that had turned into. He’d made it, but only by the skin of his teeth.

It looked like that was going to be how things went this time, as well. Perusing the pictures he wouldn’t have been able to take if it weren’t for the prince, Prompto had no idea what he was supposed to do. The obvious answer was the one that came to him first: ignore the act and keep working towards his goal. Cameras and clothes notwithstanding, they were still enemies; Noctis was still the person who could bring down the empire’s plans one day if he was allowed to ascend the throne. He was a threat both to Prompto’s government and his own survival. After all, they were getting along for now, but if Prompto made it home? If he rejoined his unit and went after Lucis the old-fashioned way? He had no doubt that the prince wouldn’t hesitate to wipe him off the face of the planet regardless of the jokes they’d shared or the photos they’d taken. That was what royalty did: their duty. It was what he was meant to do.

_We do what we gotta do._

Prompto pulled in a deep breath, hit the power button on his camera, and dumped it on the bed beside him. Yeah, they all had to do what was expected of them. Noctis was a prince who would lead his country to whatever passed for victory or die in the attempt; either way, he would send countless soldiers to do it for him before he had to perish himself. And Prompto… Well, he wasn’t _that_ important--he was just one of those soldiers, sent to die for Aldercapt rather than the prince of Lucis. It was no different except for the flag and how quickly they were allowed to go.

 _That_ was the part that gnawed at him more than anything else, though. When he’d taken on this mission, he’d thought for sure that it would be worth it: he’d be taking down an enemy to the empire, not to mention one that was probably just like every other royal on the planet. Sure, he’d die in the process, but it would be worth it to take a selfish asshole with a god complex down with him, right? He’d be making the world a better place, in a sense, and he had embraced his duty with that idea in mind. It was better than the alternative, which left him either moping around and mourning his inevitable fate or running from it. Neither was something he could bring himself to resort to: moping got you nowhere, and running? Running wasn’t an option.

Running got you killed.

But, as he sat there with his head in his hands, Prompto also couldn’t deny that things didn’t seem the way he’d thought they were when he left Gralea for Lucis. Noctis wasn’t the typical royal he’d been expecting. He was… He was _kind_. He went to aquariums with kids because he wanted to, not because he was simply gathering intelligence on what kinds of soldiers they would be in the future. He made lunch for his retainers--albeit not quite what one of them would consider a viable option--when it should have been the opposite. He never expected royal treatment, never reprimanded anyone for speaking out of turn, never demanded something from you that he knew you didn’t want to give. By all accounts, he...wasn’t such a bad guy. Noctis Lucis Caelum, heir to the throne of Lucis and the Crystal of the Six, seemed like just an ordinary dude.

Which left him in a real pickle here, because all of a sudden, his mission didn’t look so glamorous after all. There was a voice in the back of his head, the tiny one he vaguely remembered from when he was a kid, that told him this was _wrong_ . It had been silent for years, doused with the realization that there was nothing he could do whether he liked his missions or not. Life was more appealing than death; breathing was preferable to...well... _not_. At least, in this instance, he had been able to go down with the confidence that he was taking a terrible scourge on the planet out with him.

Only he wasn’t. If he went through with this, if he took that gun from his drawer and blew the prince’s brains out like he was supposed to, then it wouldn’t be _justice_. It wouldn’t be righteous retribution for the men they’d lost on both sides of the war so that the royal families could go on fighting.

It would be murder, plain and simple.

And Prompto didn’t want to die a murderer.

 _Wanting’s got nothing to do with it_ , he reminded himself, although it wasn’t as firm as it used to be. How could he make that argument when, immediately afterwards, the prince’s offer rang through his head? How could he truly believe that when this enemy--this _Lucian_ \--had looked him dead in the eye and told Prompto that he would have protection if he _wanted_ it? That he could stay if he _wanted_ it?

That he never had to go back to the empire if he didn’t _want_ to.

It was a dream, the kind that he hadn’t had in so long that Prompto had started to think he was imagining them. Those old visions of himself in places he’d never seen before and would never see in the future if his life stayed on its present course, those pictures in his mind of doing almost anything besides fighting for a country that didn’t value him like Noctis said they valued their soldiers. They were distant, drowned like that little voice had been in the hopelessness of his existence, but they had been there all the same.

He was a soldier. He was one of Niflheim’s finest.

But in Lucis, he had a camera. He had clothes that didn’t sit uncomfortably on his shoulders or pull in all the wrong places. He had a real bed that he didn’t have to worry about getting strangled for.

He had people who treated him like a friend even if they didn’t really know him and had no reason to trust him.

_They… They could, though._

They could. He could _give_ them a reason. Yes, it would cost him his life, but who cared? He’d kissed it goodbye a few weeks ago anyway. He’d resigned himself to his fate, so the question wasn’t a matter of how he could save himself so much as how he could minimize the damage on his way out. It wasn’t a matter of what was best for him as it was a matter of what was _right_.

Killing someone who had only ever shown him kindness wasn’t _right_ . Neither was betraying his homeland, of course, but if he _had_ to choose?

_Death by onion rings sounds...pretty good._

The sudden knock at his door had his slight smirk at that notion melting off his face, and Prompto’s head whipped towards the entrance. No one had bothered him for the last couple of days, probably because Noctis had done such an awesome job of blowing his mind and figured he might need the time. (Spoiler alert: _he had_.)

It looked like his self-imposed exile was over, though. He’d taken too much time, and now they were sending in the cavalry to make sure he was still alive. (That or it was food, which was possible since the only visitor he’d had for two days was one of the kitchen ladies bringing up his meals. Somehow, they were always bordering on disgustingly unhealthy, so he had a feeling he knew who had been ordering for him.)

His mind was nowhere near made up, but that didn’t stop Prompto from clearing his throat and heading for the door to unlock it. Another gift, another drop in the proverbial bucket.

“Oh, uh… Hey, Ignis,” he greeted the prince’s chamberlain where the latter was waiting on the other side. The cheerfulness he tried to inject into his tone really must have fallen flat, because it didn’t look like he bought it.

_Well. Crap._

They just had to send the most perceptive of the bunch, didn’t they? That wasn’t to say that Gladio and Noctis didn’t have their own moments of unnerving clarity, but when Ignis managed to pin a person down with just a glance, it was more than slightly unsettling. If anything, that diplomatic smile of his had Prompto’s heart beating a little faster, and not in the good way.

“Good evening,” Ignis greeted him as if it hadn’t been two days since Prompto had gone into hiding. He didn’t enter the room, standing beyond the threshold with his hands tucked behind his back. “We hadn’t heard from you, and His Highness wished to check up on your well-being.”

Yup. Very diplomatic.

Chuckling nervously, Prompto rubbed the back of his neck and inquired skeptically, “Oh, is uh...that all?”

Of course it wasn’t, and Ignis knew it too. Surprisingly, he didn’t beat around the bush as he added, “He also wished to speak to you about some rather... _enthusiastic_ strategies he’s devised recently.”

From the sound of it, that was just an optimistic way of telling him that Noctis had probably been throwing whatever ideas he had at Ignis to see what stuck—which meant Ignis had to know what he’d said the other day. The awful, terrible secrets he’d given away. And now they wanted him to be audience to their plans on how to respond to it.

Hey, at least it was only about fifty percent likely to end in execution. Not a bad deal!

“That is,” Ignis continued after a beat of awkward silence, “if you are agreeable to the prospect.”

Okay, that one threw Prompto for a few loops. If he was talking about Noctis’s offer to stay, then Prompto already figured he could predict how that would go: it was all good until they tried to tell the king he was cool with defecting to Lucis—which he wasn’t! He...thought. Maybe? Fine, the jury was out on that; in his confusion, he couldn’t tell up from down much less make a decision like that on the fly. If he was reading it wrong, though, and this was about something else… If this was a prelude to an interrogation rather than the offer the prince had laid before him, probably with an unspoken expiration date he’d already overshot…

_Oh, yeah. I’m so screwed here._

That was before he counted the fact that the gun in his drawer was making his palms sweat in anxious anticipation of something he logically knew wouldn’t happen. Ignis couldn’t sense its presence the way he did everything else; he couldn’t possibly know it was here when the captain of the Kingsglaive understood the need for stealth on this one. It didn’t help, though: it weighed on his thoughts and his conscience even as he struggled to come up with an answer to Ignis’s question.

Because what would he be if he agreed to the prince’s offer only to stab him in the back? What would he be if he took the Lucians up on their unmitigated, unconditional, unreserved kindness only to shove it back in their faces?

He was a Niff. His duty was to his own people.

But he...he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

Prompto could die an imperial rat. He simply wouldn’t go down with the fleas.

It was all the decision he needed to make. In that instant, it was like the world tilted on its axis, although nothing felt out of place and _wrong_. No, this was right—for the first time, he felt like he was doing something unambiguously good when he nodded resolutely and smiled with brittle courage at Ignis.

“I should probably talk to the prince about it,” he murmured, unable to voice what he _really_ wanted to say for fear that someone else would hear. The people who needed to would, and _soon_. That had to be enough.

Hopefully, so would his decision.

With the world still turning around him in spite of his preoccupation, Prompto was dragged out of his thoughts by Ignis’s responding gesture towards the hallway. “He is available to meet with you now. Unless, of course, you had other matters to attend to first.”

His sarcasm was obvious, and Prompto couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, what else would Prompto have to do around here besides sit and stare when he wasn’t in the prince’s company? In fact, it was pretty clear that basic social protocol was the only thing keeping Ignis from inquiring as to what Prompto had been up to the past two days. Not that he couldn’t figure it out if he wanted to, but still, it was more polite not to ask.

“If I’ve arrived at a bad time, we can reconvene later at your convenience,” Ignis amended when Prompto didn’t immediately answer.

_Nice work, dude. Just stand there gaping a little longer like a totally not crazy person._

“No, no! Now’s, uh, great!”

A small lie, but a necessary one. It would never be a great time to tell Noctis what he needed to say. That he needed to do it, however, was unarguable.

If Ignis could sense the direction his thoughts had taken, he had the grace not to mention it. Instead, he merely nodded and stepped aside to allow Prompto room to pass.

“Excellent. Shall we?”

“Y-Yup. Sounds like a plan!”

_Now or never…_

 

***

 

Much as Ignis tried to ignore it, he couldn’t entirely eradicate his apprehension regarding Noct’s request to retrieve Prompto for a more thorough brainstorming session. There were so many things that could go wrong if they brought him into the fold, not least of which being the potential betrayal if they did indeed read the situation incorrectly. Even so, his charge had spent the last two days formulating his own plans only to instantly discard them for various reasons, all of which amounted to the fact that the empire would circumvent his efforts one way or another. Something had to give, and that _something_ required the presence of their resident imperial captain.

Oddly enough, it appeared that Prompto had fared about as well as Noct with regards to effective time-management. His self-imposed exile was hardly any different, and he had neither contacted them nor, if the operatives placed in his vicinity were to be believed, left his room once in that interval. It was such an uncharacteristic turn of events that Ignis had hesitantly proposed his lack of communication might be indication of his answer to the question of remaining in Lucis, not that Noct was willing to consider it. His friend had immediately brushed off the notion, insistent that Prompto merely needed some time to come around. After all, discovering the staggering differences between Lucis and Niflheim had to be a lot to process.

Ignis had chosen not to comment on that particular assumption. There was no reason to disappoint Noct when the likelihood of his plans ever coming to fruition was slim. It would already happen soon enough: the prince had always been compassionate to a fault, and Prompto was eerily similar to the stray animals that he had attempted to sneak into the Citadel as a child. Of course, Ignis had usually pressed him to send them back where they came from, but there were the rare occasions when he had acted as Noct’s co-conspirator. It wasn’t something he was proud of, to say the least.  

This time, however, the point was moot. Ignis wasn’t sure he’d be able to help Noct hide his new friend in spite of his best efforts. For one thing, it wasn’t as simple as tossing Prompto under the bed and praying he didn’t make any noise. For another, should their actions fail, the consequences were a bit more dire than a stern lecture from one of the king’s retainers.

For his part, Prompto seemed no closer to making a decision on the matter than Noct had described two days prior. He didn’t say a word on their way to Noct’s chambers, their stroll more reminiscent of a funeral procession than a causal appointment. Perhaps it was simply that Prompto already knew how this would turn out; whatever Gladio said in jest, they all knew he was not as unintelligent as he occasionally seemed. It was highly likely that Prompto would be declining Noct’s offer, familiar as he was with the consequences of desertion in his own military apparatus.

Regrettable as it was, it would admittedly make matters simpler--for now, in any case.

The heavy weight that seemed to rest on his shoulders was enough for Ignis not to bother him with trifling conversation, so he held his own tongue until they crossed the threshold to Noct’s door and closed the door tightly behind them.

“Highness,” Ignis greeted him where his charge was lounging on the sofa, idly playing a video game to calm his nerves. “You have a guest.”

The glance Noct leveled over his shoulder would have been comical under different circumstances. Instead, Ignis nearly cringed at his hopeful expression and the manner in which he attempted to mask it.

“Hey,” he called, tossing his controller onto the sofa beside him and raising a hand in a more casual greeting than Ignis would have expected given his exuberance from earlier.

Whether Prompto knew it was a pretense or not, he merely waved in response, his mouth shut tight. Well, that wouldn’t do. Ignis hadn’t brought him here so that he and Noct could have a silent staring contest. There had been enough of that between himself and Gladio over the last two days to be getting on with.

“Have you eaten yet, Prompto?” he prompted gently. “It’s nearly dinnertime. I can prepare something, provided His Highness has more in stock than instant meals and junk food.”

That one earned a slight smirk from Prompto, although it was Noct who replied wryly, “ _You’re_ the one who stocks the pantry, Specs.”

“And yet the potato chips still find their way into your apartment.”

“Don’t potatoes count as vegetables?” joked Prompto, his voice slightly strangled to match his thin smile.

Rolling his eyes, Noct agreed, “That’s what I always tell him.”

Excellent. Now there were _two_ of them.

“What His Highness chooses to indulge in when I’m not looking can hardly be considered a _vegetable_ ,” he huffed indignantly. “Gysahl greens are a healthier alternative to th--”

“Isn’t that what chocobos eat?” Noct cut him off. His puckered, disgusted expression seemed to set Prompto a bit more at ease, and Ignis noticed his shoulders dropping a fraction as his grin grew more genuine.

Ignis, on the other hand, merely shook his head in exasperation. They had been through the same song and dance too many times over the years for him to feel quite as dismayed as he used to. He’d already warned the king that his son would one day drop dead from what he was eating in Ignis’s absence--that was the best he could do.

“Natural options are not exclusive to wildlife,” was all Ignis answered with as a result, knowing how Noct would reply if he confirmed his suspicions outright.

Unfortunately, Noct had always been too brilliant for his own good and managed to work it out on his own. Shuddering hyperbolically, he muttered, “Yeah, no thanks. Think I’ll stick with _real_ food and leave the _natural options_ to other people.”

“How very shocking.”

“Not my fault people have no taste.”

“And it won’t be my fault when _yours_ lends you no advantage over Gladio in training.”

To their shared surprise, an amused snort alerted them once more to Prompto’s presence. The staid if nervous captain who had accompanied him here was gone; replacing him was someone who resembled the person they had come to know as Prompto, in spite of their suspicions regarding his motives. His smile was far more easygoing, and when he spoke, it didn’t sound as though a behemoth were sitting on his clavicle.

“Surprised he hasn’t tried to force feed you tomatoes or something, dude.”

It was a good thing for Noct that his Shield was meeting with the marshal to inform him of what they had learned from Prompto and inquire as to how they should proceed. Otherwise, he likely would have logged that suggestion away for a later time--as Ignis was at that very moment. He had tried everything he could think of to insert a few essential nutrients into Noct’s diet, from overt tactics to more surreptitious approaches. Forcing them down his throat, while not quite feasible, had a certain ring to it that he had no doubt Gladio would enjoy.

Perhaps it was best if Gladio and Prompto didn’t get to know one another any better after all.

Noct, however, didn’t seem threatened by the idea. Rather, he scoffed openly and countered, “He likes winning too much to do that.”

“And what a victory, indeed, if it ended in your unwilling consumption of something healthier than your average fare,” lilted Ignis, delighting in the way Noct cringed at the mere thought. It was hardly a joke, after all, when Gladio was entirely likely to do just that.

His charge was certainly aware of it, as well. With all the subtlety of a chocobo in heat, he hurried to change the subject before either he or Prompto could come up with another clever ruse to force his hand.

“Weren’t you saying something about dinner? I’m starving,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch again with a vague gesture towards the kitchen.

“Of course, Highness,” Ignis replied. Inclining his head to Prompto, he added, “I’ll make certain it includes something edible.”

“Ugh, seriously?”

“Having guests requires sacrifice,” scolded Ignis without turning as he made his way into the other room. He didn’t miss Noct’s exaggerated gagging noise, nor did he overlook Prompto’s laugh in response. He simply chose to remark on neither. Doing so would have set the conversation back, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.

To his overwhelming surprise, it appeared to be exactly what _Noct_ wanted. What his prince claimed in intelligence, he was lacking in tact; Ignis had fully expected him to cut to the chase as soon as he was out of sight. It wasn’t that Noct wanted to exclude him from the proceedings, as far as he could tell: he valued Ignis’s opinion, and they had worked together on just about everything since they were children, no matter how potentially embarrassing. No, this was a more calculated move, one that made Ignis proud as he began pulling pots out of the cupboards.

Because Noct didn’t immediately inundate Prompto with questions about his decision, for good or ill. He didn’t corner him or demand that he consider the offer again. Everything that he had been talking about for two days flew right out the window over the Crown City, leaving but one topic of conversation.

“You ever play a video game?”

_Brilliant, Noct._

At his inquiry, the last dregs of Prompto’s reluctance bled away, and Ignis glanced through to the other room in time to see his expression morph into something resembling curiosity rather than anxiety. It was no surprise when he shook his head in the negative, not considering what they had learned about his origins, and Noct had clearly prepared for it in advance. Beckoning Prompto closer with a jerk of his head, he grabbed a second controller from the table and tossed it to Prompto as soon as he was in range.

“It’s pretty fun once you get the hang of it. We usually use our phones, but some games are better on the big screen.”

“I’ll bet,” agreed Prompto, although Ignis could tell he wasn’t quite certain what he was agreeing _to_. Such was the nature of things when you explored a new world you could hardly understand. Even so, Prompto handled it with grace and no small amount of bravery when he asked, “How do you win the game?”

Grinning, Noct navigated through the menu with an unassuming, “Beat me.”

Oh, Prompto was certainly in for an education today.

It didn’t take long, either. Ignis had barely started stirring together the beginnings of a green curry sauce when the captain’s exclamation from the other room had him peering in to ensure that there was nothing amiss. Well, beyond the predictable outcome: Noct had expertly maneuvered Prompto’s character into a corner and was employing a string of endless strikes so that the latter had no opening to perform a counter attack.

“Dude, no fair!”

“It is _so_ fair.”

“Nuh uh! I don’t even know what button to press!”

“Hit the _x_.”

“I did!”

“Not hard enough!”

“Man, I’m _totally_ hitting it _right now_!”

Noct’s smirk didn’t waver for a moment. “You’ve got to defend before you can attack.”

“Lemme guess,” grumbled Prompto, mashing the button as though his life depended on it. “That’s not _x_.”

“Nope.”

A muted groan was all the response he received, much as it looked like Prompto had a few choice words he would have rather said.

By the time Ignis was setting the table, he hadn’t done a great deal better. He was a fast learner, so it appeared that he had managed to hold his own in a few battles, but there was simply no defeating Noct when his prowess on the digital field rivaled that of his abilities in reality. Match after match ended with the same results, and Ignis had wondered if Prompto was about to throw his controller through the wall on more than one occasion when Noct attempted some of his dirtier tactics. (He never would have believed that such a thing was possible in a game, but if anyone could discover a way to make it work, it would be Noct.)

“Man, that was sooooo unfair,” Prompto whined once he had taken Ignis’s presence as the escape route it was and slid into a seat at the table. Noct wasn’t far behind, albeit far less surly about the game as the meal.

“You’ll figure it out,” he waved off his opponent’s charge. “Just gotta practice, that’s all.”

“I’m pretty sure all the practice in the world isn’t gonna help.”

“You never know. One of these days, you might even be able to take Specs down.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I prefer to leave the mindless fighting games in your capable hands,” Ignis countered automatically. _King’s Knight_ was one thing; Noct’s collection of console titles, on the other hand, were entirely different. With the demands of his job, Ignis didn’t have time to sit and... _appreciate_ them, as Noct called it. That, of course, was fine by him.

And, apparently, by Prompto as well. Through a mouthful of hot curry, he managed to mumble, “No, fanks. ‘M good.”

Huffing a laugh, Noct shrugged. “Suit yourself. That’s probably a good idea, anyway. Specs acts like he doesn’t care, but he hates losing as much as Gladio.”

“Which is why I never lose,” sniffed Ignis. He didn’t deign to answer Noct’s covert chuckle, although the latter’s good humor seemed to evaporate a bit without pause. Prompto noticed it too, his shoulders stiffening slightly as a result, and it didn’t take long for either of them to realize the meaning behind Noct’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Speaking of losing and all…” Clearing his throat, he busied himself with pushing his vegetables around his bowl as he inquired, “It’s been a couple days since everything, so… Have you given it any thought?”

A tactful method of approaching the situation, to be sure, but he might as well have plowed right into the conversation for all the good it appeared to do. Where Prompto had been uncomfortable earlier, he was positively rigid now; his spoon was halfway to his mouth, hovering in midair while his knuckles turned white around the metal. If Ignis didn’t know any better, he would have said Prompto was closing off: there was nothing in his body language that indicated he was at all amenable to this discussion, and considering the circumstances, Ignis nearly instructed Noct to retreat for the time being. Shutting down when the subject had initially been broached was natural; he wasn’t used to options, so it was no surprise to Ignis that he hadn’t handled the topic very well. This, however, was indicative. They had given him two days to reflect, so it shouldn’t have been such an uncomfortable denouement to the evening. That it was confused Igis almost as much as it unsettled him.

Something was wrong with this boy-- _very_ wrong.

In this instance, it didn’t appear that Prompto was even bothering to hide it. He wasn’t exactly an expert in subterfuge, if Ignis had to call it anything; he was far too easily pleased for that, though he supposed that was the flaw in the empire’s system. If you appropriated children, then you couldn’t expect them to be unaffected by what the average Lucian would call mundane. That more than anything had brought them to the root of Prompto’s differences, the walls he had attempted to put in place to bar them notwithstanding.

There were no walls now, however. He didn’t erect any as he slowly lowered his spoon and sat back in his chair, his head bowed so that they couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t hiding when he averted his gaze and took a deep, shuddering breath.

His voice was not as closed off as it had been at their first private dinner when he murmured with the air of someone who simply wanted to get something off their chest, “Listen... Noctis, Ignis… There’s… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Noct frowned, exchanging a glance with Ignis. From the looks of it, he was just as taken aback at the unexpected change in Prompto’s behavior as apprehensive regarding what the captain possibly had to say.

Being Noct’s advisor, Ignis had already formulated a few potential avenues this conversation could divert down, all of which would be of most use recorded for future analysis. His hand therefore slowly slipped into his pocket, his fingers feeling blindly for the button on the side of his phone. He’d been trained for this: should information pertinent to Noct’s safety arise, this was how he would protect his friend.

And given the sudden return of Prompto’s reluctance, it appeared that was precisely the case.

That was none of Noct’s concern, however. His gaze silently pleaded with Ignis to hold his tongue and his adherence to procedure for the time being. It wasn’t a request Ignis took lightly, nor could he agree wholeheartedly with it. Even so, he had promised Noct to keep an open mind; that had been the most successful conversation they’d had since the aquarium, all things considered. According to Noct, the king trusted him to make the right choice, and he needed Ignis and Gladio’s support in the same. They offered it—of course they did. They always had. But it didn’t make it any easier for him to remove his hand from his pocket and grip his knee tightly either.

That earned him a small smile from Noct, who turned back to Prompto to reassure him, “Hey, look, if you don’t want to talk about it or don’t want to stay, we’re not going to force you. If we did, we’d be no better than the Niffs. Like I said, it’s up to you.”

Somehow, that didn’t seem to lessen the burden Prompto silently bore. If anything, he retreated further into himself, Noct’s assurances an attack of their own. Now _that_ was interesting. If this were indeed a simple matter of staying or going, Prompto should have been heartened by the fact that his response wouldn’t be taken as some sort of betrayal. (Even if it would, considering the disappointment Noct was clearly attempting to hide.) Certainly, he had exhibited distressing amounts of concern over the reactions his behavior garnered; there were moments where Ignis couldn’t help but wonder how he had missed so many signs of the life Noct had discovered Prompto truly led. There was no reason for him to react so tremulously, though.

Until he said the words Ignis had been waiting for since the day the imperial contingent arrived.

“It’s not that,” Prompto sighed, his hands clenched into fists in his lap and his meal quite forgotten. “I...haven’t been totally honest with you, but...b-but I _want_ to be. You guys have been, like, so much better to me than I deserve. I mean, seriously, I never would’ve known half the stuff you’ve taught me if I hadn’t come here. And the clothes and the camera? I just…”

He paused his unexpected and apparently involuntary flood of information to take a deep breath. When he recommenced, although it seemed to cost him something tremendous, Prompto forced his gaze to meet Noct’s.

“I wasn’t sent here to shadow you,” he blurted out hurriedly, as though he might change his mind if he didn’t. Ignis had no doubt that was indeed the case when he finished, “I was sent here to kill you.”

Ignis tensed at the confession, his heart practically skipping a beat. If he clutched his knee any tighter, he vaguely registered that he would be in danger of breaking it. Honestly, aside from the timing, this wasn’t so far off course. This possibility had always been in the back of his and Gladio’s minds from the moment they had been informed of Prompto’s position in the negotiations; it was why they had been so apprehensive with regards to all of Noct’s attempts at extending a hand of friendship. In reality, this shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

Still, hearing it out loud was enough to make Ignis’s blood run cold.

Thankfully, the shock wore off quickly and Ignis’s logical mind took over again, rapidly processing the implications and what they--no, what _Noct_ \--had narrowly escaped. The mere fact that Prompto was admitting this to them, openly and without hesitation, gave him reason to believe that he had no intention of following through on his assignment.

_He’d better not._

Of course, there was the chance that this was another layer in a convoluted scheme to carry out the nefarious deed, but Ignis could hardly believe that was the case. Prompto had seen Noct in a number of vulnerable situations; he had been present often enough to have found an opening and taken it by now, whether in training or elsewhere. Instead, he hadn’t acted, and not for lack of opportunity.

No, Ignis couldn’t convince himself that Prompto’s apparent change of heart was due to anything but Noct’s influence. Where Gladio and Ignis had pressed for distance and protocol, Noct had thrown caution to the wind, each believing the other was wrong. In any case, neither side had been entirely correct in their assessments: he and Gladio had been right about the danger, but Noct may have had a point about the solution. Had Noct followed their advice, they may have found a knife in his back by now.

It seemed that he was as intimately aware of it as Ignis, because he expressed no disdain or anger at having been led astray. Rather, they shared a momentary glance before he quietly asked his would-be assassin, “And then what happens to you after?”

The question obviously threw Prompto off guard, because his head snapped up to reveal his jaw hanging low while his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. For his part, Ignis quite agreed: it would have been more prudent to contact the Crownsguard first and interrogate him later regardless of his personal suspicions on the matter. True to form, Noct chose the less safe course, which was likely for the best if they were to get any information. As soon as Gladio found out he had been correct…

Ignis did _not_ want to be present for that conversation.

Shaking that thought aside for the time being, Ignis nevertheless slipped his hand back into his pocket. As he’d thought before, this was probably the best time to start recording.

If Prompto noticed, which Ignis suspected, he didn’t say a word. Given his revelation, he should have known he had no right to. Rather, he swallowed loudly and shrugged a shoulder with a carelessness that had Ignis predicting his answer before it left his mouth.

“I would be executed for murdering the crown prince of Lucis,” he replied tonelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. There was no emotion in his voice, no despair at having been purchased for the sole purpose of dying in the act of killing another. There was only acceptance, which was somehow worse.

On the surface, Ignis supposed anyone might believe that Prompto’s patriotism towards the empire would run deep enough to willingly embark on a suicide mission to kill the Lucian prince. That was what they had believed until recently: imperial soldiers had always seemed like so much cannon fodder, and the only people he could imagine would voluntarily join the military knowing that would be their fate were the mentally unstable or the terminally nationalistic. Given what they had learned of Niflhiem’s practices, however, he was beginning to see that a third option existed he hadn’t accounted for in the past. If Prompto were a volunteer, he wouldn’t speak with resignation of his mandated destiny; he would have proudly declared his duty and very likely have stabbed his butter knife through Noct’s trachea. It was what Ignis would have expected from anyone else.

But from the sounds of it, there was no choice involved. Considering Prompto’s history since his arrival in Insomnia, Ignis doubted very much that he truly knew what the word even meant. Choice in the empire seemed to apply to but one group--the elite, who were born into their positions without money changing hands.

Prompto and others like him? The point was moot.

As were all their assumptions about Prompto’s purpose here. Yes, it turned out that Gladio had been right: there were ulterior motives at work that justified his vehement defense of Noct, even and perhaps most especially to the latter’s dissatisfaction. In spite of that, however, they were moving in a direction Ignis thought could be more beneficial than the alternative. Prompto had offered this information willingly--based on his open expression, it appeared that he was ready to offer more. Now wasn’t the time to play the short game and toss him in a cell, albeit for different reasons than those that Noct was undoubtedly thinking of when Ignis glanced over to see the curiously pensive expression on his face. No, this was where the pieces on the board needed to regroup for the sake of their king. If they were fortunate, then their motives would align in the end.

For now, Ignis decided another test was in order, this one having nothing to do with training or missed opportunities. In this instance, it was all a matter of intelligence.

So, clearing his throat, he carefully pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him. Prompto’s eyes followed him the entire time, and Ignis could tell he was wondering whether he was about to be killed on the spot for his confession. His trepidation didn’t ease at the sight of Ignis’s phone, oddly enough, although he realized belatedly that that was only to be expected. With the push of a button, he could have half the Crownsguard in this room to subdue their guest, and that wasn’t counting what he was capable of on his own. All things considered, he supposed there was good reason for him to fret.

In this instance, however, he had nothing to worry about. Whatever happened next, Ignis was intent on gathering as much intel as possible for the king pertaining to the empire’s apparent lack of regard for peace and the treaties that solidified it.

Especially if the emperor had his sights set on _Noct_.  

As usual, his charge’s foremost concern didn’t seem to be for himself, because there was a bemused frown on his face when Ignis calmly tapped the recording button on his phone and pushed it in Prompto’s direction. The latter said nothing about it, listening with downcast eyes as Ignis asserted, “If that is the case, then we need a bit more information.”

Prompto had claimed he wanted to be honest, and Ignis was fully prepared to test it. Fortunately, it appeared that it was but another examination that Prompto was destined to pass. He didn’t decline, nor did he attempt to evade the situation now that he had spilled the proverbial beans. Instead, he nodded slightly yet resolutely and raised his head to stare back with an even gaze.

“What do you want to know?” he asked. There was not an ounce of deceit in his demeanor or the sort of arrogant sarcasm that Ignis would have expected of his commander. Rather, his willingness to explain--even on record--was more apparent than ever. It was an encouraging thought, if only marginally. There was a certain dampening of Ignis’s spirits that kept him from full appreciating it in light of their latest revelation, after all.

“Exactly how much time do we have before your assignment is expected to be completed?” Ignis inquired without dwelling on it further.

To that, Prompto shook his head. “They didn’t really give me a timeline or anything. I was just supposed to wait until the envoys left and I could get a weapon to use.”

“And what weapon would that be?”

“A gun.”

“You weren’t in possession of any firearms upon your arrival. The imperial luggage was thoroughly inspected.”

“The emperor made arrangements,” Prompto informed him, his tone suggesting that it should have been a simple matter to predict. Now that he thought on it, Ignis supposed he was right.

“And have those arrangements come to fruition?”

“Yes.”

_Damn it._

Taking a deep and steadying breath, Ignis glanced briefly at Noct before inquiring, “Have you brought the weapon with you?”

A pause, then, “No.”

Ah. Now that was a turn of events he hadn’t anticipated. If Prompto had been planning on making a confession, which seemed increasingly to be the case, then Ignis would have thought he’d bring the weapon with him to deposit it in safekeeping. That, or he would have offered his information and then used it to put a bullet through Noct’s skull. Ignis wasn’t certain whether the weapon not being with them this evening was encouraging or not. It begged more questions than answers.

“Where is it now?” he asked, pushing his million other inquiries aside for the time being.

“In my chambers. Top drawer of the dresser. I…” Prompto trailed off, swallowing hard before he continued, “I didn’t want to bring it with me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ignis asked, “Why is that?”

For a moment, Prompto didn’t appear to have an answer. Well, perhaps that was inaccurate: he clearly _did_ , although it seemed to cost him something to say. There was an indecisive gleam in his eyes, and while Ignis half expected it to set him on edge, he discovered after a few seconds that it wasn’t the sort of hesitation that indicated a valid threat. Secrecy didn’t greet him when their gazes met, but fear? Oh, yes. There was certainly fear.

Ignis couldn’t help but wonder how often _that_ look at adorned Prompto’s face since the money had been paid for his so-called _service_.

If he sensed Ignis’s carefully concealed sympathy, he offered no indication. Instead, with a tremulous sigh, he stared idly at the phone between them and explained, “Because I… I didn’t want you guys to get the wrong impression.”

That much was more than understandable. As advisor to the future king, Ignis was well aware that perception was everything. How you presented yourself to the members of the council, foreign diplomats, or the public at large often left a lasting impact on how they responded to you in the future. It was a consequence that Ignis was always mindful of, not to mention one that he pressed Noct to consider in his daily interactions as well. As such, there was no denying that Prompto already had a few strikes against him in Lucian society, considering his heritage and occupation. With this confession added to the mix, perhaps it _was_ for the best that he left the weapon behind. Having it on his person, while certainly further proof of the empire’s ill intentions, would not have put Ignis at ease with its intended target in the same room.

There was no need to tell Prompto that. He hadn’t reached his station for no reason, and as a fellow subordinate, Ignis knew better than most how easy it was to perceive the thoughts and motives of superiors. That was why he didn’t waste more time on basic information, opting instead to make a move towards the larger issue at hand.

“You obviously recognize the gravity of this situation,” Ignis began in a much calmer cadence than he actually felt. “It is likely that no matter what you decided to do, be it carry out your mission or betray your government, the consequence would ultimately include your demise.”

“That’s not--”

Ignis halted Noct’s attempt at a refutation with a raised hand, not lifting his eyes from Prompto’s gaze for an instant. There was no need to address his disbelief, not when Ignis had been issuing less a threat than an observation. There was no other method of approaching this conversation, whatever their general thoughts on Prompto’s character to this point were--or had been. They had to be certain that their goals aligned, and at the moment, Ignis didn’t have enough information to judge one way or the other. If Prompto were merely trying to save his own skin, then they could not accurately predict whether the captain might turn on them if a better option presented itself. If he were trying to save his own skin, he could just as easily flee Insomnia and vanish into the outer regions, none of which the king had any jurisdiction over anymore. Those were the sorts of contingencies that Noct, educated as he was, hadn’t been trained to predict. In a sense, he was fortunate: until he began assuming more royal duties and learning the intricacies of international affairs, his was a fairly straightforward view of the world.

Ignis knew better. He wouldn’t entirely disregard everything his prince had to say, especially when he hadn’t been entirely incorrect about Prompto thus far, but there were occasions when a king needed to step aside and let his retainers get their hands dirty.

This was one of them.

So, straightening in his seat and reaffirming what Gladio referred to as his poker face, Ignis recommenced, “I can’t imagine that, given your history, shedding light on the empire’s plans is a simple decision. Why abandon your mission and turn yourself over to the enemy like this?”

“I guess because it...doesn’t really matter,” shrugged Prompto. “Like you said, I’m as good as dead either way. Kill Noct--uh, _Noctis_ \--and the king’ll string me up. Don’t, and the empire will get rid of me and let someone else take care of it. Might as well make sure somebody gets outta this alive, right?”

“And that _somebody_ just happens to be me?” Noct blurted out before Ignis could silence him again. He had to say, for as often as Noct tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, Ignis was proud to see that his expression was inscrutable now. Of course, that was probably due more to the fact that he’d been told a perceived friend had actually been sent to kill him than any real attempt on his part to conceal his thoughts, but it was a start nevertheless.

It certainly helped that Prompto didn’t glean the comfort from it that he would a less firm approach. He could barely meet Noct’s eyes when he confirmed, “Pretty much. They always taught us that Lucians were lazy and stupid, and that you attacked Niflheim because you were just jealous that we were better… And I...kinda figured you’d be about the same as the emperor. Not, like, _crusty_ \--totally not like that,” he hastened to amend. “But, uh...y’know... _royal_ . All _holier than thou_ and _I do what I want_. I figure it’d be easy, that I’d be doing everybody a favor. But…”

At that, Prompto paused, although Ignis could see quite simply that it wasn’t to fabricate some falsehood that would explain his sudden change of heart. Rather, there was only truth in his eyes when he took a deep breath and pressed on.

“But I was wrong. Hanging out with you guys, seeing what it’s like to serve the prince of Lucis… There’s really no comparison there.”

“Well, _that’s_ good to hear,” Noct muttered wryly, his smirk nearly a grimace at the thought of sharing any commonalities with Emperor Aldercapt. Ignis had to agree--what a dreadful notion.

Seemingly emboldened by the vote of confidence (or perhaps merely the lack of immediate disembowelment), Prompto agreed, “Yeah. I just… I wish I’d figured it out sooner.”

“It’s cool, I guess,” Noct muttered with an absent shrug. “Not like I wasn’t itching to give you a hard time because of the Niff thing. I mean, it’s not _murder_ or anything, but I usually start small.”

 _Hardly the appropriate time for that joke, Noct_ , Ignis sighed internally. Even so, he decided against a reprimand. If it set Prompto slightly at ease, which it seemed to based on the state of his shy smirk, then it was worthwhile.

Visibly shaking off the remnants of his apprehension and shock himself, Noct glanced between Ignis and his phone and pointedly inquired, “So, what do we do now?”

Well, proper procedure would have dictated that he stop recording and summon the Crownsguard or even the Kingsglaive. Prompto’s mere presence had been a threat to Noct’s life, and the fact that he had chosen not to carry out the mission would do little to prevent those in charge of the royal line’s safety from locking him so deep in the Citadel’s prisons that he would never see sunlight again. And that was only if they didn’t immediately sentence him to an execution, which was by far the more likely scenario.

It wasn’t an outcome Noct would be agreeable to, that much was certain. There was an increasingly nervous energy emanating from him each time his eyes landed on Ignis’s phone, anxious once again if in a different context. Anyone could have recognized that: Ignis had been friends with Noct for almost as long as he could remember, but it didn’t take familiarity to know what he was thinking in this instance. If Noct could have it his way, then he was undoubtedly hoping to act in a manner that would protect his assassin-turned-friend rather than hinder him.

_That certainly complicates matters._

The king had said that Prompto was Noct’s responsibility, however, so Ignis responded with a question of his own as he reached over to turn off the recording: “What would you have me do, Highness?”

That, apparently, was not to script. Noct appeared briefly taken aback at being handed the reins on this one, but he recovered soon enough.

“Well, it’s good that we know, but the emperor doesn’t realize we do, right? We could probably use this to our advantage.”

“Uh… _How_ exactly?” interjected Prompto, his voice little more than a squeak.

Ignis paid him no mind for the moment, raising a finger to hush him. “Go on.”

Noct leaned back in his seat, more at ease now that the conversation was no longer being documented. Still, he wisely mulled over their options before asserting, “I think I might have a plan.”

It took a great deal of willpower not to point out that he had concocted a different plan every five minutes for two days without success thus far. He’d lost count at forty-six, and while not all of them had been entirely ridiculous, none were anywhere near viable. That, admittedly, had been before they knew the empire’s dark purpose here, yet Ignis hoped that his friend would forgive him for his skepticism regardless.

Apparently, he did, because he had the grace to look at least somewhat abashed when he qualified, “Okay, so, it’s more like eighty-five percent of a plan.”

Well, that was better than the alternative.

“I see,” Ignis sighed, exchanging a wary glance with Prompto. “If you don’t wish to see the captain on the wrong end of Master Clarus’s blade, however, I would suggest that we have one hundred percent of a plan before we present it to the king.”

“Not captain.”

Frowning, Noct was effectively sidetracked long enough to ask, “Say what now?”

“I, uh...kinda made that part up?” Prompto chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck with the look of a man who desperately wished he could be anywhere else. “The king wanted a name, and I figured if I was gonna go big, I might as well…y’know…”

“So, you fabricated your position,” deadpanned Ignis, his gaze as flat as his tone.

“Maybe a little?”

Oh, this was indeed turning out to be a rather different day than he’d anticipated.

Ignis refrained from berating him for his overactive imagination, logging that information away for later and setting his sights on Noct once more. They could ponder the fact that the emperor had sent an assassin with no actual rank later.

“Very well. If you don’t wish to see _your guest_ on the wrong end of Master Clarus’s blade, then.”

“Right. I was kinda hoping you guys would help with the other fifteen percent since it’s going to have to be pretty good to keep my dad from having Prompto executed on sig--” Noct cut himself off and examined Prompto with a curious frown. “Is that your _real_ name, or did you make that up too?”

That was a fair question, yet Ignis sighed nevertheless. There were more important matters to be discussed than the very real possibility that Prompto had lied about more than merely his title. It was hardly a coincidence that his surname was the same as the brand of silverware they’d used at the opening banquet, which was telling in itself. Whether it was his title or his preferred hairstyle, such minor details could be picked apart later. How they were going present the bigger picture to the king had to be their top priority, especially when the white lies Noct normally had no trouble doling out wouldn’t help in this instance

“Perhaps now isn’t the time for that,” he observed mildly as a result, raising an eyebrow when Noct rolled his eyes. .

“What? That’s probably important to know.” His gaze shifted to Prompto when he continued, “I mean, no offense, but it didn’t look like anybody on your side of the table had a clue what to call you. Well, except Commander Cretin calling you _Prom_.”

Noticing the subtle grimace on Prompto’s face at the reminder, Ignis chided, “Noct.”

“They sent him on a suicide mission. Pretty sure he knows his commander is a slug.”

“Definitely an understatement, there,” agreed Prompto sheepishly. The insult would have sounded natural if not for the slightly stilted way he said it.

_Not fond of the commander, yet also uncomfortable with verbal confirmation, at least with outsiders. Interesting._

There were so many fascinating sides of Prompto that they were learning about these days. It would have been comforting if it wouldn’t have ended in Noct’s cold corpse had he proven to be anything other than this person before them.

“A-Anyway,” he hurried to add, “my name’s definitely my name. Just not the, uh, _Argentum_ stuff.”

_Shocking._

“The silverware, I assume?” Ignis predicted, to which Prompto nodded bashfully.

“Fancy stuff, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Figured that was as good as anything. Guys like me don’t get last names.”

Pursing his lips, Ignis thought he already knew the answer to his own question but inquired nevertheless, “Do they sever all connections between a soldier and his family upon receipt of purchase?”

Perhaps his phrasing was a bit crass, but given the circumstances, Prompto didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appeared more at ease with terminology that he obviously recognized.

“Basically. They’ve gotta have records somewhere, but it’s not like we’ve ever seen ‘em.”

“I doubt that would be considered a priority.”

“Not so much.”

That, admittedly, was a fair point to take into account as they pieced together the rest of Noct’s plan. King Regis would doubtless be searching for any chink in Prompto’s armor, any possible nick in his facade that might indicate this was all some clever ruse. For what purpose, Ignis wasn’t certain: there were few reasons he could think of for an imperial soldier to willingly lie about plotting the demise of their heir apparent, after all. Even so, Aldercapt had taken more convoluted leaps in the time since Ignis began assuming a hands-on approach to Lucian political dealings; there was no telling what seemingly trivial detail might unravel the entire operation.

Which was why they left no stone unturned. For the next few hours, they sat at that table and gathered every bit of information they possibly could to cobble together what passed for an acceptable course of action. It wasn’t foolproof, of course; there were scenarios that were contingent on the roles of certain individuals. The king, Master Clarus, the marshal, Noct and Prompto themselves…

But not Gladio. That was one of the first things Ignis instructed Noct _not_ to do, was tell his Shield what they had spoken of tonight. It wasn’t necessarily that Ignis thought they should hide it from him indefinitely: not only would he find out somehow, but he would no doubt recognize a stark difference in Prompto’s behavior if the shift they’d witnessed this evening was any indication. For as much as Iris made fun of him as a meathead rather than an intellectual, there was no denying that he was brilliant in his own right. He _would_ figure it out, and quickly. That was why it was imperative that they make the king aware of the situation first. If Gladio discovered Prompto’s true motives in accompanying the envoys to Insomnia, he wouldn’t think twice--he would gut the faux captain first and inquire after the details later. Ignis couldn’t say he would have been averse to the concept at the start, but as the saying went, they had bigger fish to fry.

An emperor would always be worth more than a mere soldier.

So, Gladio didn’t play into their discussion. Ignis didn’t call him to come to Noct’s chambers after his meeting with the marshal had to have ended; he didn’t text to let him know what was on their agenda for the following day either. For now, they would have to play it by ear, much as Ignis hated the idea.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only one he despised, but both were equally necessary.

There was something to be said for the kinship cultivated while formulating a strategy, particularly one that required a certain level of trust from all participants involved. For his part, once he was aware that voicing concerns would not be met with a reprimand or worse, Prompto proved invaluable to the process. Where he could, he provided insight into the empire’s expectations that they couldn’t have fathomed otherwise. Indeed, he showed the sort of intuition and ingenuity that Ignis would have expected from a legitimate captain, which left few doubts about competence holding him back in rank.

That wasn’t what grabbed Ignis’s attention the most, though. No, that was wholly absorbed in the interactions between this alleged former enemy and his own charge. It was once the walls had come down and everything had been seemingly laid on the table that Ignis noticed once again how the two of them really did get along like a house on fire. There certainly wasn’t any doubt about it when Noct insisted on Prompto using his nickname for the first time, although Ignis was surprised to register that he was not so leery of their friendship as he had been.

But he couldn’t claim to trust Prompto, at least not fully. It was one thing to rely on his experience and knowledge regarding how Niflheim might respond to various stimuli; it was another to leave him alone with his former target in light of his confession.

Which was why Ignis waited until the following morning to search Prompto’s quarters. He didn’t advertise it as such: as far as their guest was concerned, he was leaving them to demolish the pancakes he’d whipped up so that he could shower before returning to escort them to the king.

It wasn’t a complete lie—he _would_ shower. _Later_.

First, he wanted to see this weapon for himself. Ever since Prompto had confirmed that he was already in possession of a gun, Ignis could not wrap his mind around how. The empire was cunning, he knew that much, but sneaking a firearm in with an envoy whose intentions were supposed to be peaceful was a nearly impossible feat. There was simply no way it had come from Gralea.

So, he was admittedly unsurprised to pull open the drawer Prompto had indicated and get a good look at the weapon that was meant to take his brother's life. Disappointment, however, flooded him in waves.

Perhaps Niflheim wasn’t the only army with a traitor in its midst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed. We'll see you back here again at the start of May for the next chapter, but if you'd like something to read in the meantime, feel free to check out our individual links below.


	15. Renegade Operation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UPDATE, MAY 15:** Due to some unforeseen irl obstacles, we will regrettably be putting off our next update until the 22nd. Sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for your continued patience!

Regis Lucis Caelum was not a coward. For nearly thirty years, he had given all of himself to protect his kingdom and his family. While the Ring of the Lucii absorbed what strength he had, he refused to show weakness before both friend and enemy alike. While the Wall took a great deal more of his energy than he cared to admit even to himself, he would not buckle. One day, he would be more machine than man; the brace that clanked deafeningly as he ascended the steps to his throne was evidence of that. The years would trickle past as they had always done, and his weariness would settle across his shoulders heavier than the mantle he already wore. Yet he would not capitulate. He did not turn back or turn aside, content in the knowledge that his fate had been decided long ago.

The news that his son wished to convene an audience with him, however, left him with a deep sense of dread in the pit of his stomach that he could not quite eradicate no matter how hard he tried. There was no shame in it, regardless of whether he chose to mask his feelings from both his Shield and the marshal where they were awaiting their guests on either side of him. When last he had spoken to his son, Noctis had adamantly persevered in his foolhardy attempt to discern a path by which he could free the imperial captain from his yoke of servitude. It was an admirable goal, not to mention one encouraging to hear from a young prince destined to be king one day. As such, Regis could not say that he was altogether uncomfortable with the idea that his son had indeed concocted some semblance of a plot, undoubtedly with Ignis’s assistance. If that were the case, then he had no recourse: he had agreed to this meeting when he’d thought it wasn’t a matter of possibility so much as a gradual wearing down of Noctis’s dedication as plan after plan bore no fruit.

He wasn’t certain whether he was more or less disappointed with the idea that perhaps his son had managed the seemingly impossible. Certainly, there would always be reservations in his mind with regards to this Captain Argentum. How could there not be, given his origins and his circumstances? In a perfect world, they would not have had to bother with such trivialities, but the situation made it all the more imperative that he do so. Noctis was kind and willing to give of himself as Regis had always done.

Kind men oftentimes found it difficult to translate their ideals into leadership.

That was why it was Regis’s duty to see to it that the matter was handled appropriately. Ignis had not mentioned the nature of the meeting they were seeking, nor had he offered more than a vague description of the purpose. According to his son’s advisor, they had come into some information regarding the captain’s tenure that they felt compelled to share as soon as possible. That, however, was where his willingness to divulge these alleged secrets had ended, and he had left Regis’s chambers with a sincere if hasty apology that morning. It had taken much of his resolve not to order him back and demand that he betray Noctis’s trust so that Regis might be prepared going into this discussion. There was a fine line between a king and a tyrant, and forcing such a departure from protocol was stepping beyond it. His son wanted to tell him on his own; Ignis was merely there to relay the message. In time, whether immediately or otherwise, Regis would gain the same insight that they had. He merely needed to be patient.

That, however, was a simple statement to make when one didn’t take into account the terrible burden weighing him down as he lowered himself into his seat and took a deep breath. If this was to be an audience between himself and his son, it would have been more appropriate to hold it in his chambers rather than standing on ceremony in the throne room. It was the captain’s involvement that necessitated this formality, and it already had Regis uneasy.

It wasn’t the only consideration to do that.

Tilting his head to the side, Regis’s eyes never left the doors opposite him as he inquired of his Shield, “Clarus, you said Gladiolus would not be accompanying Noctis today?”

“It would appear not. Iris required his assistance. The prince was more than agreeable, of course,” he added as though that would put both their minds at ease.

“Of course,” echoed Regis with even less confidence than his Shield. Noctis was competent in his own right, and the Citadel was full of highly trained operatives, but he would have felt better if his son’s guardian were on duty rather than galavanting off with his sister for whatever reason.

On his other side, Cor frowned but chose not to voice his own thoughts, for good or ill. That wasn’t the comfort he had been hoping to glean from the marshal, yet Regis was willing to overlook it in this instance. They were traversing the unknown, and Noctis had apparently decided that secrecy was the safest road, even and perhaps most especially if his encouragement of Gladiolus’s absence on such an occasion was as calculated as Regis suspected.

Regis Lucis Caelum was no coward, but he was also no fool.

Fortunately, Noctis did not keep them waiting long. The heavy doors at the head of the chamber signaled the arrival of his son’s retinue, and Regis straightened in his seat with a slight nod when his own retainers followed his lead. It was a more uncomfortable entrance than he had hoped for, which did little for his apprehension: Noctis strode calmly at the fore, Ignis at his side, but Captain Argentum’s uneasy expression where he followed behind them was more telling than not. Indeed, Regis was both impressed and leery of his decision to stop at the bottom of the steps while his son and Ignis ascended to the dais.

Manners or strategy—he knew which was more characteristic of the empire and did not care for the implications.

That was a matter to be dealt with another time. For now, Regis turned his attention to his son, the latter bowing uncomfortably before him as he rarely needed to do in the past. A formal setting necessitated formal tradition, and Regis inclined his head with a wave of his hand to indicate that his young prince was free to speak.

“I’m sorry about calling you here on such short notice, but a...complication has come up,” Noctis announced, firm and commanding as Regis would have expected for one of his station. The hesitation in his stance betrayed his thoughts to some degree, but it was a step in the right direction for the leader he would one day become. Truly, Regis’s only discomfort stemmed from the silent insinuation that whatever scheme Noctis had constructed might not be to his own liking, if the tense set of his shoulders was any indication.

Unlike his son, Regis has grown adept at hiding his own distress and allowed not an iota of it to resound in his voice or his expression when he answered, “We will hear your concerns.”

Noctis glanced at his guest where the latter waited, head bowed in deference, before he continued, “For starters, the empire hasn’t exactly been honest about the treaty.”

Ah, so this was where they would begin. Regis could not claim to have believed the emperor’s sincerity was not feigned; he was experienced in his reign, and battling Niflheim for as long as he had left him with a sense of skepticism that was not easily dislodged.

Even so, diplomacy required a level of professionalism and offering the benefit of the doubt to those who did not deserve it. Much as he would have liked to make a remark worthy of his son’s amusement, there were appearances to be upheld, in private or otherwise.

“You are laying a serious accusation at Emperor Aldercapt’s doorstep,” Regis warned his son, the words bitter on his tongue. “What proof do you have of this betrayal?”

“Information willingly provided by a reliable source,” Noctis assured him diplomatically. That, at least, had Regis nodding.

“Your informant accompanies you, does he not?”

At that inquiry, Noctis nearly broke their heretofore impenetrable eye contact to answer him wordlessly but appeared to think better of it at the last moment. This was a conversation between the two of them; witnesses could be left for later.

“Yes. Your, uh, Majesty.”

Breathing deeply, Regis sat forward on his throne and commanded, “Very well. Proceed.”

“Yesterday evening, Prompto warned us that the empire’s intentions didn’t conform with the treaty’s tenets,” he immediately explained, the statement sounding a bit rehearsed if Regis had to guess. Perhaps Ignis was rubbing off on his son after all.

“Which, in particular, have been violated?”

“The reason why he’s here. It isn’t so I can teach him about Lucis. Emperor Aldercapt planned for him to...to assassinate me.”

Regis vaguely registered the sudden shift at his side when his Shield placed a hand on his sheathed sword, the marshal doing the same. He distantly noticed that the captain’s posture slouched further, a silent confirmation and surprising tableau of shame. In the back of his mind, he could hear the voice of his conscience whispering that it had been right not to trust this boy or the aged dolt who had sent him.

But none of that mattered. Not really.

It didn’t supersede the way the earth suddenly seemed to stop spinning, for in that instant, Regis was paralyzed by the realization that his own fears had been more accurate than he had allowed himself to believe. How often had he wondered if there were another shoe waiting to drop after the treaty had been signed and their fate was sealed? When he’d first read the provision that called for Captain Argentum’s presence, it had left a bad taste in his mouth not only because it meant placing his son under imperial surveillance, but because of the potential for exactly this sort of trickery as well. There was nothing kingly about his reaction or the response he wished to give; there was nothing regal in his sudden and overwhelming desire to see this imperial upstart’s head mounted on a pike so that the emperor might discover that there was still strength and determination to be found in Lucis.

Oh, but he undoubtedly already knew that. It was the reason he had chosen to target Noctis instead of himself: there was no greater strength or weakness to him than his son, and anyone with half a mind recognized it.

That was why he had no choice but to steel himself and lock away the part of him that desired nothing more than a father’s retribution rather than a king’s justice. This was one of the occasions his father had warned him about, the sort that was a test of soul more than strength or courage. His actions here would dictate what happened next, and with the comprehension that Noctis’s life had already been hanging by a thread throughout the negotiations and even more so afterward, he could not misstep.

The daemons had scaled the walls of Insomnia and waited in the shadows for them to open themselves to attack. Regis would not— _could_ not—let that happen.

So, fortifying himself against the pervasive screeching of his own personal grief at what could have been, Regis stared down at his son and asked far more calmly than he felt, “And this... _assassin_ informed you of this?”

Noctis nodded firmly. “He did. He _chose_ not to follow through and warned us instead.”

Well, that was some small comfort, but Regis’s solace didn’t last for long.

“I thought that maybe we could use this to our advantage.”

There it was—the facet that he had been anticipating. His son was exceptionally bright, and in spite of the encouragement that offered him for the future of Lucis (or what remained of it), Regis was simultaneously dreading what _advantage_ Noctis wished to press. Certainly, there weren’t many; any that required the involvement of the captain weren’t quite within Regis’s tastes either. Not for the moment, in any case.

That was the father’s opinion, however. The man that cried out for retribution against those who would dare to take his son’s life when he had barely come of age was not to be trusted. He would sooner see the world burn than let a hair on his child’s head be harmed.

Noctis didn’t need his father right now. The threat had, apparently, been mitigated for the time being. What his son needed was his _king_.

And a king, he would have.

“In what way?” ventured Regis cautiously. He ignored the weight of his Shield’s gaze where he felt it boring into the side of his head. They could discuss the difference between foolhardiness and calculated risks later.

Exchanging a glance with Ignis, Noctis elaborated under their threefold scrutiny, “We talked it over last night and figured the best option is to let the Niffs think their plan worked.”

“Their plan to murder you in cold blood,” Regis nearly spat, his temper getting the better of him. “And how precisely would that be an adequate course of action?”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Ignis interjected delicately. “Should we reveal our awareness of the empire’s plot, we can only assume that Aldercapt would redouble his efforts, this time in a manner we would not so easily apprehend. Surety of their own success may be instrumental in halting their advances.”

“Advances we cannot yet be certain of,” he countered. Ignis nodded in reluctant agreement.

“Yes. Even so, Your Majesty has no doubt anticipated action on the empire’s part to depose you now that they have conquered the rest of the kingdom.”

That much, unfortunately, was true. Regis would have liked to believe that peace with Niflheim was possible, yet at every turn, the emperor had intimated an aversion to curbing his territorial ambitions. Plotting his demise was not a possibility, but a probability, as was their eventual attempt on his son’s life. He had simply thought it would take longer to transpire.

_What an old fool I’ve become._

Whether his impending dotage was to blame for his optimism, however, was a moot point. Senility would not dull his senses to the extent that he could ignore the inherent outcome of Noctis’s so-called _plan_.

“And you surmise that our only alternative is to feign my son’s death,” he predicted sharply, his grief and distaste clouding his tone if not his judgment.

That, perhaps, may have explained why Ignis seemed a mite more hesitant when he confirmed, “In order for us to topple the empire’s influence over Lucis without deliberately and overtly flouting the peace terms, we _would_ have to stage the prince’s death.”

Of course, they would. Any other road would have been too simple to travel, and while the empire was known for inflicting many things upon their neighbors, _simplicity_ was not one of them.

Regis’s first instinct was to decline. He was king, after all, and the reason they had come was to earn his blessing in this endeavor. It was his royal prerogative to tell them that this venture was madness, that he would not offer his approval and would instead present the issue to his council for deliberation. That was their duty; it was what they had been doing for all the years of Regis’s tenure and, in some cases, his father’s. Surely they would be able to construct some alternative to this conclusion, something that would apply the same subterfuge without placing his son in harm’s way.

That was not what he did, however. Instinct was an important trait in any king, yet it was not always infallible. As a father, yes, he could have said those things. As a father, he could have reprimanded Ignis for entertaining this notion and sent them back to Noctis’s chambers with a promise that he would handle the situation himself.

As a king, unfortunately, he saw the truth in what he said. He did not need to inquire after the opinions of his own retainers to know that they did as well.

But there was as yet one person they had not heard from, the one who held the key not only to this information but to the entire operation, should Regis choose to allow it. So, for the first time since Noctis had entered the room, Regis tore his eyes away from his son to stare directly at the imperial assassin sent to dispatch him.

“Prompto Argentum.”

The sound of his own name understandably startled him, and the young captain jerked forward in an awkward genuflection. That, however, was not what interested Regis.

“Approach.”

It was encouraging, that flash of fear through his eyes when he nevertheless obeyed without question or hesitation. His steps were measured, yet Regis could tell that it took a great deal of effort for him to do so. In many ways, it was indicative of the sort of soldier he was: controlled, even in the direst of circumstances.

Then why had he divulged this terrible secret? It did not make sense, and Regis was determined to find out. The last thing they needed was to walk into some convoluted imperial trap when they were under the impression that they were _setting_ one.

Waiting until the captain had stopped alongside Noctis, his head still bowed, Regis demanded, “You claim to be speaking the truth of Emperor Aldercapt’s motives?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty,” he automatically replied. Regis raised an eyebrow in a show of skepticism.

“Then you have chosen the path of treason, for informing us of such heinous internal acts assigned to the imperial military is undoubtedly the highest of offenses.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why?”

The captain blinked uncomprehendingly. “Uh...why?”

“Should your failure to kill my son and your treachery in alerting us to your mission come to the emperor’s attention, it would result in your own execution, would it not?” Regis clarified, to which Captain Argentum nodded slowly.

“Yeah—uh, _yes_. Your Ma—“

“That’s enough of that,” he waved him off impatiently. “For what reason have you chosen death over a lofty position in your country’s history books?”

“W-Well, I… I guess…”

“You could have completed your assignment on any number of occasions and, had you escaped the wrath of the Lucian throne, would have been welcomed back to Niflheim a hero. For what reason do you now sacrifice that fate for one entirely less admirable?”

This time, the captain did not respond immediately, either uncertain of what to say or because he was considering Regis’s questions. Given that he had waited long enough for this information, whether from his son or anyone else, Regis was not in a position of patience to accommodate him.

“ _Speak_.”

“He didn’t deserve it,” Captain Argentum blurted out, seemingly without thinking.

The silence that followed was heavy with tension, and not merely that between their imperial guest and himself. Regis could tell that his Shield and marshal were both prepared to strike on his orders, their hands grasping their weapons in spite of their casual stances. Even Noctis and Ignis, so rarely ruffled for their own reasons, appeared to be holding their breaths in anticipation of what would happen next.

As it happened, so was Regis, because the captain’s answer did not compute.

“He did not deserve it,” he repeated slowly and softly, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed Captain Argentum for any indication of a lie.

There wasn’t any, not when he nodded and not when he explained, “Things in Niflheim aren’t like they are here. People are… Well, they’re pretty awful.”

He didn’t have to tell them. Lucis had been on the receiving end of enough of the emperor’s ire to prove that. Regardless, Regis did not interrupt, nor did the captain pause to formulate a more formal response.

“I thought it’d be like that here, but it wasn’t. Noc—uh, Prince Noctis doesn’t deserve to die. I get that now.”

On that matter, they were in agreement, and the captain’s gaze when he raised it to Regis’s was so genuine that he could not help believing that his words were as sincere as he wanted to think. Nevertheless, this earnest boy had more to confess.

“It is not in the nature or duty of a soldier to make such an assessment on their own,” observed Regis. “Yours is to obey your orders, not to question them.”

Oddly enough, the captain smiled sheepishly at that. “Yeah, uh, I’ve never been so good at that one.”

“Then how did you rise to the position of captain?”

A pause, then, “I...didn’t.”

“You didn’t,” Regis deadpanned. Suddenly, this was even more complicated than he had thought.

“I’m more of a lower end of the totem pole kinda guy.”

“So, you have no title.”

“No, Your Majesty.”

In spite of the situation, it was quite nearly an insult. Gritting his teeth, Regis clarified, “The emperor sent an assassin without a title to kill my child.”

The captain— _Prompto_ , not _captain_ —must have recognized the slight, because he swallowed hard in apprehension. “I think they didn’t really expect me to get past the whole _escaping the wrath of the Lucian throne_ thing.”

“How very realistic of Emperor Aldercapt to consider that,” mused Regis sarcastically, leaning back in his seat to fume in silence. An insult indeed—if he were planning to kill a prince, the least he could do was send someone of even _marginal_ merit.

Instead he had sent a common boy. A boy purchased simply so that his life could be thrown away in pursuit of his own aims.

_That murderous wretch._

Perhaps Regis should have pitied Aldercapt. Perhaps he should have felt sorrow for the depth of his loneliness and his dangerous ambition. Perhaps he should have expressed some small measure of remorse for what could have been had he been a better ruler in the past.

But he didn’t. No man capable of the emperor’s misdeeds deserved pity or anything of the like, especially not when his ambitions included assassinating Regis’s child.

It was an injustice that he could rail against later in the privacy of his own chambers. For the moment, he had to content himself with the notion that their plot had failed. His son was safe, standing before him in compassion for his would-be killer and doing his best to devise a plan that would deliver them from the empire’s might. It was a small comfort, but Regis would take what he could glean.

The same could be said for his motives in asking, “So, you have chosen to abandon your nation and your mission. You must understand the position that this places you in, an enemy of the kingdom of Lucis with no protection from your homeland lest they discover your treason?”

Regis would have expected Prompto to flinch, to show some sign of regret for the choice he had made, but there was none forthcoming. Quite the opposite, actually: the boy stood straighter, nodding resolutely.

“I’m aware, Your Majesty. And...I place myself at your mercy.”

_Or lack thereof._

“Hang on,” Noctis interrupted, inserting himself back into the conversation after a frankly surprising amount of restraint. “You said as long as he’s here, he’s my responsibility, right? If all this pans out, then it’ll keep everyone safe—Prompto included.”

Ah, of course he would have thought of that. Or, more likely, Ignis had found some clever ruse to ensure their guest’s survival in the event that Regis didn’t do precisely what he desired. The boy’s devotion to his son was admirable indeed, yet he was not willing to stake Noctis’s life on it just yet.

“And what exactly do you intend to do?” he inquired, bracing himself for another revelation he could scarcely tolerate.

Noctis shifted uncomfortably under the obvious fraying of Regis’s nerves, but he did not hesitate to reply,  “If Prompto murders a member of the royal family in Lucis, the empire would have to hand him over to us for punishment. They’re pretty much banking on us killing him anyway,” he added in unveiled disgust. “Anyway, you’d just let everyone think we’re going to execute him while he helps us prepare for the Niffs to attack. When they do show up, he can either fight or hide somewhere they won’t find him. His choice.”

“Dude, seriously? I’d so be down for a little battle royale,” scoffed Prompto, although the tension in his voice belied his casual demeanor. Regis thought he understood why: it had to be difficult, making the decision to betray one’s home and then fight against them not long after. That he was willing to commit himself to that course of action was, admittedly, bolstering to Regis’s dwindling faith.

And dwindling capacity for argument, considering his son’s attention to detail. It was lacking refinement, but Regis couldn’t deny that it seemed their simplest and most direct option for the moment—even if he did not care for the methods.

_Speaking of methods…_

“Your reasoning is sound, but there are contingencies to be aware of,” he observed, carefully noncommittal despite Noctis’s clear belief that he was admitting defeat. He wasn’t—not yet—but the tide of his conscience was turning. Regardless, he forced himself to turn back to Prompto and inquire, “What manner of assassination were you intending on performing?”

Apparently he had spoken in too sophisticated terms, because the empire’s lackey stared as though he had spoken in the language of ancient Solheim. “The, uh...permanent kind?”

Regis was not one to resort to acts of condescension, but he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes with incredible difficulty. Fortunately, he had a Shield more than capable of reading his thoughts, dislike them though he seemed to right now.

“ _How_ did you plan to kill Prince Noctis?” he translated flatly.

“Oh! I was given a gun.”

“By which you mean you _stole_ a weapon from the king’s armory?” demanded Clarus, to which Prompto’s eyes widened almost comically.

“No, no! Like, seriously, _given._ ”

Ignis, in an attempt to save him from his own awkwardness, stepped forward to address Regis. “I also inquired as to the method of this alleged assassination. The empire hadn’t the capacity to slip such a weapon past our defenses, nor did I find it likely that a mere foot soldier would be able to break into the armory under the Glaive’s supervision.”

Nodding, Regis grudgingly admitted, “I concur.”

“Prompto provided the location of the weapon, and I investigated on my own.” With a soft blue flash, he summoned a firearm from the Armiger hosted by Noctis’s connection to the Crystal. It was hardly necessary, but he nevertheless pointed out, “It is of Lucian make.”

It should have been no surprise to any of them, whether Prompto had come into possession of the weapon himself or not, yet the insinuation that one of their own had betrayed the crown was too much. In spite of his silence thus far, Cor chose that instant to address them, his tone colored with no small degree of suspicion.

“Who was it that gave you the weapon, or are you protecting them still?”

As if to confirm what they already knew to be true, Prompto’s gaze scanned the chamber as though prying eyes might be watching from the shadows. That, indeed, was a grave sign.

“I’m not protecting them, but...it’s really complicated…”

“Doubtless, it equals the scale of your confession,” retorted Regis. The implication registered more in Prompto’s grimace than his words, which were stilted yet firm when he continued.

“The captain gave it to me. Of the Kingsglaive, I mean,” he stammered.

_Is that so?_

Their collective shock notwithstanding, that was not a name anyone had expected to hear as a suspected traitor, especially not when Captain Drautos had sworn to tend to Noctis’s safety personally. In fact, Regis immediately bristled at the notion and the even greater question of who he would believe: a man whose loyalty had never been in doubt for years of service, or an assassin who had been sent to kill his son and only decided against it at the last moment. The decision did not seem so difficult at all in those terms.

It was only his awareness of the emperor’s cunning nature that kept him from calling the boy a liar, although it was a near miss. Was it truly so impossible, or had Prompto chosen that name as part of his real plan to destabilize Insomnia by sowing seeds of distrust where there had been none before? The latter seemed the more likely alternative, but much as he hated to admit it, there was also no denying what was before them. Someone would have had to remove a weapon from the vaults, someone with both the clearance and the clout not to need to explain their reasons why. The captain would have little trouble obtaining and delivering a firearm under those conditions; no one would dare question him if he indicated that it was a necessary withdrawal. Between that and his history as something of an outsider, a Galahdian who had no love for the sacrifices their people had made in this war… Well, perhaps it was not so far-fetched after all. Still, it would have been a heavy accusation from one of the Glaive—from an imperial foot soldier? It was tantamount to ridiculousness.

Clarus must have arrived at a similar conclusion, for he leveled the rogue imperial lackey with a stern gaze. “Your accusation is both troubling and unfeasible, especially considering your current position. Do you have even an ounce of proof to support these claims?”

“I…” Prompto blanched, but his gaze did not waver. “I don’t, sir.”

None but a weapon.

Under different circumstances, Regis would have had Prompto shown to a cell where he belonged for both his treachery against the empire and that against the captain of the Kingsglaive. This was a boy who had spent his whole life in imperial servitude and still chose to thwart them. Who was to say that he would not do the same to Noctis? Who was to say that he wasn’t more than an assassin? The emperor employed a number of talented slaves in his ranks. It would be simple for him to choose one of them as his operative, a spy who could gather a reading of the terrain and spout accusations against the strongest defenses Insomnia could boast of, all while making himself seem innocent. All things considered, the empire had conducted more convoluted deeds in pursuit of territory.

However, Regis was not willing to entirely abandon the potential of a spy in their own midst and raised a hand to halt his Shield when the latter made to speak again. When his son’s life hung in the balance, there was no arguing that it was better to be safe than sorry.

“We will investigate your grave assertions,” he announced tonelessly. The relief on the false captain’s face melted away when Regis ordered, “Until such time as we have made a determination with regards to your potential accomplices within the Citadel, you will be relegated to the marshal’s custody. He will accompany you wherever you choose to go, and...he will observe the proceedings as you assist my son in the safeguarding of the last free plot of Lucian soil.”

Noctis snapped out of whatever stupor the recent revelations had placed him in, a growing grin on his face to accompany his wide eyes. “You mean, you’re going to let us do this?”

“Against my better judgment, yes, I am,” replied Regis solemnly. Standing from his throne, he hobbled towards the ledge and added with a brief yet significant glance at Prompto, “There will be precautions in place. We will take _no_ unnecessary risks. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah-- _Yes_ , of course,” Noctis amended, tempering his enthusiasm. “We’ll do it however you want us to. It’s going to take all of us to pull this off anyway.”

Of that, Regis had no doubt if for no other reason than the fact that he planned to have that imperial boy watched every moment of the day and night until it was through. After that, depending on his performance, he would be free to go--for the time being, however, it would take a village to ensure that this plot came to fruition in a way that would not end with the empire getting precisely what they’d wanted before the negotiations.

“If that is the case,” Clarus interjected, seeming to sense the direction of Regis’s thoughts, “I must make a suggestion.”

Nodding, Regis merely waved a hand for him to continue. There was no escaping their course, but he was not foolhardy enough to ignore his Shield’s advice with regards to how they should proceed. Of the two of them, the latter was the one who had become an expert in tactical advances, both ordinary and covert in nature. Pride and fear would not keep Regis from hearing him or, most likely, enacting his alleged recommendation.

It was, however, enough to baffle him when his Shield evaded promoting a viable course of action to claim, “I can only assume that Gladiolus is absent for a reason.”

“Limiting his involvement was my own idea, Master Clarus,” Ignis replied hastily, his expression bravely firm. “I meant no disrespect. Gladio’s dedication to his station may have proven detrimental to what we hoped to accomplish here. As such, we chose to exclude him until His Majesty had this information.”

Regis couldn’t refrain from smirking slightly at that, for he was too familiar with the oaths sworn by retainers to their lieges not to interpret the deeper meaning behind Ignis’s clever words. What he meant, albeit not to _say_ , was that his son’s Shield would have sooner killed this threat than allowed him to stand before the throne in verbal prostration. There was not a doubt in Regis’s mind that, given Gladiolus’s commitment to keeping Noctis safe, he would be opposed to offering this self-proclaimed assassin even the slightest chance to carry out the deed he was claiming to have abandoned. That was his job, and not once in Noctis’s life had his Shield shirked those responsibilities. They hadn’t always gotten along as well as they had recently; according to Clarus, there had been moments throughout the years when Gladiolus had been less than enthused with his charge despite his passion for his position. They had grown together rather than apart, though, and Regis was positive that if the faux captain was alive, then Gladiolus could not have heard news of his treachery.

Yet.

Whether that was for the best or not remained to be seen.

That was apparently the conclusion Clarus had come to as well. The slight twitch that tugged at the corner of his mouth for a moment was all the indication Regis needed to know that he took pride in his son’s vigor. It was fleeting, however, and the stony stare returned in full force by the time he continued, “Your assumption was correct, I’m sure. Therefore, if we have any hopes of succeeding in this venture, Gladiolus must be alienated from this plot.”

“You...sure that’s the best idea?” Noctis’s gaze alternated between Regis and Clarus in his confusion, and not without reason. All his life, he had been instructed to inform his retainers of his comings and goings, Gladiolus in particular. It was necessary for a young prince who required both guidance and supervision in a world that sought to do him harm as much as good. Of course, Noctis had done his level best to toe the line more often than not; there had been a few occasions where he had been severely punished for attempting to evade his Shield. Those matters were ultimately trifling—to keep Gladiolus in the dark regarding a strategy that placed his life in peril? That was unheard of.

Until now.

“I am not saying that I believe the accusations made against Captain Drautos,” Clarus warned, “but there _is_ a spy within the Citadel. For this weapon to have been procured, there can be no doubt of that. Once the alleged assassination occurs, the empire will be scrutinizing our response, hunting for anything that may indicate we have not been forthcoming with accurate information. As your Shield, Gladiolus will be one of the foremost targets of their observation. We need his reaction to be genuine.”

“Clarus is right,” Regis agreed, holding up a hand for silence when it appeared that Noctis might argue. “In order for this subterfuge to succeed, it is imperative that as few as possible know the truth of the matter. As it stands, those of us in this room should suffice.”

“Uh, excuse me, Your Majesty?”

With raised brow, Regis turned to the imperial whelp, who was holding his hand aloft as though he were in a classroom and not within inches of Regis spearing him on the end of a blade. Good deeds notwithstanding, a reckoning of that proportion would have been fitting for his initial motives.

The boy seemed certain of that as well, for his posture was rigid when he lowered his hand and inquired, “W-What happens when Gladio finds out we tricked him?”

Ah, what indeed. Regis supposed that would be contingent on how Prompto chose to behave. If this happened to be the last time he saw his son alive, then there would be no Shield or Wall or _god_ that could stand between Regis and the imperial murderer. If he remained true, on the other hand…

“Gladiolus is a good man,” he replied as he retook his seat, head held high. “I’m certain you’ll be able to manage the situation, _Captain_.”

 

***

 

The sun had already wandered past the middle of the sky on its way to the west by the time their meeting finally adjourned. Between the veiled threats, the not so veiled ones, and the seemingly never-ending back and forth as they cobbled together the remaining details of their plot, Noctis had thought for sure that they were in there far longer. It was in times like these that he wondered how his father did it, how he flitted from meeting to meeting as if it were easy. Maybe that was the sort of thing that came with experience; that, at least, was what Noctis was hoping. If not, then he had one hell of a learning curve ahead of him.

For the most part, he figured he’d done a pretty good job of holding up. It wasn’t until they were outside of the throne room that Noctis began to feel the diplomatic bravado he’d been feigning begin to fade, not that he really needed it by that point. Ignis was more than capable of seeing to the minor arrangements that remained in terms of Prompto’s confinement, speaking in hushed tones with the marshal before the latter departed with a resigned Prompto in tow. His father had been adamant: until their scheme came to fruition, the two of them weren’t to have any contact. Whether it was to prevent them from coming up with more _brilliant_ ideas or because his dad feared Prompto might change his mind, Noctis wasn’t sure. Either way, the realization that the next time they saw each other would be at his fake assassination left Noctis with a lump in his throat that he couldn’t ignore.

That probably should have been his cue to say something comforting or provide reassurances that, even though things looked grim now, it would all turn out for the best. After all, it wasn’t like Prompto had any reason to believe that he wasn’t being led to his execution, what with Noctis and Ignis hanging behind while they disappeared around the corner towards the elevators. His fate would have been the first thing on Noctis’s mind if he were in his new friend’s shoes. While his father had agreed to their plan, he had also made it inescapably clear that his trust was not yet won, which couldn’t be the most encouraging news to someone like Prompto. Then there was that whole matter of keeping Gladio in the dark…

_That’ll end well._

Noctis had been so focused on what Gladio would do if they told him the truth that he hadn’t even considered his Shield’s reaction in the event that Gladio was proven right, albeit in a mere political fabrication. It couldn’t be _too_ bad, though, right? Gladio was one of the strongest people he knew besides his own father, who had completely backed Clarus up when the latter ordered his son’s involvement to be stricken from their strategy. There was no reason for him to feel guilty, and Noctis struggled to push his reservations to the back of his mind where they wouldn’t bother him for now. Gladio would be okay. He had always been good at setting emotion aside and doing what needed to be done. When they were laughing over the emperor’s expression when he found out Noctis wasn’t _actually_ dead, it would all be worth it.

Gladio would understand. The inevitable _I told you so_ s would be more than a little grating, but if all went according to the rest of his plans, Noctis wouldn’t be alive long enough to hear it anyway.

Come to think of it, that was really the only part of Clarus’s command that put Noctis a bit on edge. If Gladio was left out of this pretense, it was unlikely that Noctis would ever see him again. The empire would need to believe that he was dead and bring their army within range for their attack on the city. As soon as the dust settled, if everything went as it should, there would be one defeated Niflheim military and one divinely chargrilled prince of Lucis. There wouldn’t be time for smug retorts or apologies or anything else. A tenuous reconciliation over his acceptance of Prompto wasn’t how Noctis wanted to leave their relationship, not in the slightest.

Still, it wasn’t as if he had a choice, and it was stupid and selfish to consider forsaking the entire kingdom just so he could find closure with everyone. Sometimes, the stuff you didn’t have a chance to say had to be enough.  

“Noct?”

Ignis’s voice pulled him from his stupor, and Noctis immediately pasted what he hoped passed for a smile into place when he feebly replied, “Yeah, sorry. Not used to functioning so early. Feels like it should be super late.”

While his explanation definitely fell flat, Ignis made no move to question him further. Instead, he nodded tightly and led the way towards the private elevators that would take them back to Noctis’s chambers.

In the ensuing pause, which wasn’t entirely comfortable, he cleared his throat and declared, “That went better than expected. I figured my dad would make us work a lot harder on that one.”

“That is the benefit of coming prepared,” Ignis remarked. Noctis couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a sarcastic allusion to his less than thorough plan from the night before, but he had a feeling it was.

“Guess so.”

Ignis lapsed into silence until they were safely shut inside the privacy of his quarters, sighing heavily when Noctis immediately set his sights on the refrigerator and the not quite nutritious sodas his chamberlain had pushed to the back. His efforts were getting cleverer by the day: the healthier options were lined up at the front of the shelves, forcing him to battle his laziness in order to grab something more satisfying. The joke was on him, though, because Noctis was ready to work for it if that was what it took to avoid _carrot juice_ . (Seriously, what the hell was that even doing in the Citadel?) If he was going to _die_ that evening, the least Ignis could do was indulge him.

Fortunately for him, his friend was too preoccupied with other matters to limit his sugar intake.

“I’ll admit that knowing who procured the gun for Prompto before we brought this to His Majesty’s attention would have been ideal. I did not suspect that the culprit would be so deeply ingrained in the Lucian military.”

Noctis frowned, inquiring carefully, “So you believe him? About Drautos, I mean.”

Ignis hummed noncommittally. “Your father and Master Clarus will look into the matter. I can’t say for certain that Prompto’s claims have any merit, not with the information presently available to us.”

“But?”

“ _But_ ,” Ignis haltingly continued, “it seems rather pointless for him be honest about matters concerning his involvement in the empire’s plot only to omit the truth in this instance.”

Noctis nodded, leaning against the kitchen island as he rocked his soda can back and forth between his hands. “If Drautos _is_ in on all this, then there might be other traitors in the Glaive too.”

“Indeed. That is why, unless we are told otherwise, we will leave that to those who are equipped to deal with it.”

“Would be nice if Prompto could tell us more about it.”

“It would certainly simplify matters.”

Smirking, Noctis couldn’t help asking, “You think Cor’s taking it easy on him over there?”

“I suppose we’ll find out once you’re dead,” Ignis responded with a small if pained smile. “Speaking of which, there are a few matters I should see to before your impending assassination.”

“Right,” Noctis muttered, well aware that what Ignis was talking about didn’t really match up with his own thoughts. That being the case, he sheepishly lowered his eyes to the granite countertop when he added, “About that… Not telling Gladio and all...”

Unsure of how to phrase his concerns, Noctis trailed off and glanced askance at Ignis. Usually, the latter could decipher his internal musings without even trying; it would have been useful if it weren’t so annoying most of the time. Thankfully, Noctis wasn’t disappointed in this instance, and it saved him a hell of a lot of trouble.

“While I have my doubts about keeping him in the dark, I also believe that the rationale behind the decision is sound. Master Clarus would not have suggested it otherwise.”

“Yeah, I know,” Noctis responded glumly. It was the answer he had expected, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. All he could really do was remind himself that this was for the good of everyone, not just himself or his Shield. Personal guilt didn’t matter when they had so much more to lose. Even so, that didn’t stop him from requesting, “But you’ll look out for him, right? Make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy? Explain it to him later?”

The gaze Ignis leveled at him was inscrutable, though there was a spark of suspicion deep inside his gaze that Noctis didn’t like at all. Whether it was because he was cottoning on to the fact that there was more to this plot than met the eye or he simply couldn’t fathom that Gladio would need comforting in the aftermath of a mere ruse, Noctis couldn’t tell, nor was his response all that indicative of what was going on in that head of his.

“I will, of course, make certain that Gladio doesn’t act in a manner that will endanger our efforts. However, when it comes to explanations after the fact, I’d wager that he would want to hear it from _you_.”

_Well, that’s going to be a little difficult._

That wasn’t what he said, though. Rather, he evaded, “Yeah, I guess I’ll owe him that much.”

What he owed _all_ of his friends added up to more than he would ever be able to pay back, that was for sure. There was no use dwelling on it, though, and prolonging the conversation would only give Ignis the sort of ammunition that would tank Noctis’s covert plan. As such, he declined when his chamberlain asked if there was anything else he needed and offered an idle wave over his shoulder as the latter departed to see to whatever it was he had in mind for the evening. Who would have thought that preparing for someone’s death would take so much work?

Not merely on Ignis’s part either.

“And just how long have you been here?” Noctis asked the black mound of fur that was curled up on his bed when he walked into his room.

Unfurling from his position, Umbra hopped down and trotted over to greet him. It was always amazing to remember that this was one of the fabled Messengers, particularly when he nudged his head against Noctis’s leg in silent prompting for affection. And really, who was he to deny a divine request?  

Kneeling to scratch behind Umbra’s ears, he asked, “You up for a quick delivery?”

Noctis decided to take the lick to his hand as a _yes_ . He might have been instructed against telling _Gladio_ that this death was false, but he had no such limitations against informing Luna of what was about to happen. That, at least, was somewhat comforting. Since the very first night of their imperial guests’ stay, he had been keeping her apprised of the situation, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

Besides, it was more heartening than words could describe that Luna had been nothing but supportive of his ideas thus far. Her encouragement had been part of what inspired him to continue down the path he’d chosen and had even prompted him to send a few of Prompto’s pictures from their outing. (He doubted Prompto had any clue that he’d copied them to his phone, but hey, he was the one who’d bought the camera. It was fair game.) Noctis couldn’t bring himself to regret it, though, considering how delighted Luna had been at their ability to enjoy themselves despite the circumstances. She’d even gone so far as to say that she thought he was doing the right thing in befriending him, in opening his mind and letting the pieces fall where they may.

Yeah, the last thing Noctis wanted to do was let her believe that the friend she had pressed him to make had led to his demise.

Taking the notebook from Umbra’s sash and turning to the first empty page he could find, Noctis therefore began to pen a response to the last message he hadn’t gotten around to answering yet. He couldn’t help a small twist in his gut at the prospect of assuring her that news of his death would be false when he knew that his real destruction would follow shortly after, but he hoped that she would understand. If anyone would, it was Luna.

It still took Noctis a while to finalize what he wanted to say, though, and he found himself stopping frequently to look back over the page or get up and pace the room as he waited for the right words to come to him. This wasn’t as easy as merely explaining what was going to happen; neither of them ever had the luxury of being direct in their exchanges, given who might get their hands on the journal. They were forthcoming in their meaning but careful in their methods, the threat of interception always looming in the back of their minds.

You could never be too careful where the empire was concerned.

 

> _Dear Luna,_
> 
> _I’m glad that you enjoyed the pictures I sent. Promise me you won’t tell Gladio that I included the one of him and Umbra? I think he’s still a little embarrassed about that. Since the last time we spoke, everyone is actually getting along a lot better. Turns out that this arrangement really was for the best._
> 
> _Ignis and I had a long talk the other night about the future, and I think we managed to work some things out. Even my dad agreed with us on some of it when we spoke to him. We’re hoping that by working together, we can extend this sort of trust and friendship through the rest of Eos. Of course, it will probably take some time, and it’ll definitely be a rough road, but I’m confident we can do it._
> 
> _In spite of his origins, I trust Prompto as a friend. I would even go so far as to say I trust him with my life, and I hope one day soon we might all be able to hang out together._
> 
> _So, you don’t need to worry about things here anymore. Everything is going as planned, and hopefully this peace and friendship can extend to Tenebrae as well._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Noctis_

He looked over his letter a few more times before deciding that this was the closest he was going to get to telling Luna what was happening without spelling it out for her. She was nothing if not insightful, so he was confident enough that she would figure out the meaning behind his words. If it didn’t happen right away, then they would at least be made clearer when news of his death by the hands of an imperial assassin reached her and the rest of the world.

So, tucking the notebook into Umbra’s carrier, he offered the Messenger one last pat on the head before sending him on his way. Luckily for him, the canine vanished without a moment to spare, because he heard the front door opening not five minutes later. With all the time he’d spent perfecting his letter, it seemed more had passed than he had anticipated. The sun was already slipping behind the buildings in the distance, indicating that evening was nearing and that his time had run out.

“Noct?” Ignis called over the sound of a few bags being set on the counter. “I thought perhaps you might like a quick dinner before the marshal arrives.”

The rumbling of his stomach answered in the affirmative before he could.

“Yeah, be right there!” he replied, taking a deep breath and steeling himself before he approached the door and the beginning of the end. There was no turning back.

Only moving forward.  


	16. Spurious Slaughter

“Is it loaded?”

“No.”

“Is it  _ gonna _ be loaded?”

“No.”

“So, how’s it gonna go off?”

The marshal looked at him as if he had to be the dumbest person on the planet, and honestly, Prompto figured he wouldn’t have been wrong. Then again, he was dealing with a kingdom where magic was commonplace and royalty was  _ nice _ \--was it  _ really _ so hard to believe that he had his doubts here? Prompto couldn’t claim to know anything about the Crystal besides that it was a giant rock that somehow protected Lucis. Despite his ignorance, however, he had a feeling that making loud banging noises probably wasn’t something he could expect from the alleged gift of the Astrals.

Or maybe he could. Those guys were hella powerful, after all.

So was King Regis, yet somehow he’d managed to scrape by in that audience unscathed as well. How he’d done it, he would never be able to fathom. The entire time he’d stood in the throne room, his knees had been shaking so badly that he was positive someone would notice his trouser legs trembling. There were a few moments where it seemed that the king caught a glimpse of his nausea, not that turning green was all too easy to hide; he hadn’t commented on it, though. Actually, he hadn’t commented on anything that Prompto had expected other than the obvious spiel. He’d come prepared for a battle of the wills, and his nerves had been steeled (to the best of his ability, anyway) against the inevitable onslaught from someone who was going to be pissed as hell about the fact that Prompto had been sent to kill his son. He should have had Prompto subdued, forced to prostrate himself on the floor and beg forgiveness before he even remotely entertained the notion of letting him help. He should have made Prompto issue a formal apology, swear fealty to Noctis, and rub his stomach while patting the top of his head before he so much as considered becoming allies, however tentatively. That was what the emperor would have done.

King Regis hadn’t. He’d listened to his son and done what the latter thought was best. Sure, he looked like he’d eaten a rotten gurangatch liver the entire time, but hey, Prompto didn’t take offense to it. Compared to what could have happened, he figured he was getting off lucky to have left the room in fewer than five pieces to begin with. They could work on their friendly demeanors later.

At least that was what he believed would have happened if he hadn’t been assigned to do what he had--if he wasn’t about to fake doing it so that the entire city would hear about it. The marshal had told him that what happened after would be difficult but less likely to end in his death than what he’d resigned himself to when they’d departed Gralea: jail, and not even a bad one. In exchange for his assistance, they were sending him to some swanky prison in the lower levels of the Citadel rather than a public institution where his fellow inmates could enact their revenge for murdering their prince. Criminals or not, they had to have  _ some _ patriotism in them. That meant Prompto wouldn’t be in any danger of getting shanked in the showers or strangled in his sleep, which was a step up from the barracks already. It wouldn’t be the comfortable room he’d grown accustomed to, but the marshal was adamant that he would be more comfortable than any other assassin. None of his fellow prisoners would have a chance to bother him at all.

Just the guards.

He  _ really _ wasn’t looking forward to that part, and not simply because he knew one in particular that would want him dead more than anyone. If he thought the public would go nuts over the assassination of their beloved prince, he could only imagine how the people tasked with his protection would react.

How  _ Gladio _ would react.

_ Better start calling him Gladiolus again _ , he sighed inwardly as he followed the marshal wordlessly out the door of the latter’s apartment.  _ Or just Executioner. _

Yeah, that was more likely.

But as terrifying as Gladio would be when he found out--and not the truth, either--Prompto couldn’t help but dwell on what would happen to him when his job was supposedly done. Would Drautos come to end him, or would he send someone else, someone who thought they were being given a gift in doing so? The captain of the Kingsglaive had promised that he would get Prompto  _ out _ of Insomnia, yet he had his doubts there. That guy had no reason to do him any favors; Loqi wouldn’t want him back anyway. It would be much cleaner for them to dispose of him in his cell where they could make it look like retribution for heinous murder. Although, the same could be said for King Regis… It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken on a bunch of added baggage by not having Prompto’s head chopped off right away.

Could the marshal be tricking him? Could his stern face and grudging kindness when he’d offered a small (and undeniably frozen) dinner before they went on their merry way to kill a prince be ingenuine? Maybe this was playing into their scheme: he’d do this, set them on the path to taking down the empire, and then die anyway.

_ Better than the alternative. _

That was for sure.

All he could hope was that the senior Lucis Caelum was as sincere as the junior one and planned on keeping his word, not that he deserved the consideration. He  _ had _ come here as an enemy; he  _ had _ come here to do his emperor’s bidding, even if that left an innocent man dead. Prompto had lost count of the terrible deeds he’d performed over the years purely because he’d been ordered to. Death, even at the hands of Drautos, was a fair trade.

If he was being honest, that was what had forced his hand in divulging the captain’s treason. It hadn’t been to save his own life; at that point, he’d sort of assumed that that was a lost cause already. When he was dead, though, he wouldn’t be able to warn them that he wasn’t the only person that had the power to bring Lucis down from the inside. He wouldn’t be around to urge caution, whether they listened to him or believed him or threw him in a loony bin instead of a prison cell. When it had been just him, Noctis, and Ignis, he’d been able to ignore it--they didn’t ask where he got the gun, and he didn’t tell. Of course, there was no missing the frustrated crease between Ignis’s eyebrows that indicated he desperately wanted to know, but he hadn’t brought it up regardless. Maybe he thought Noctis would object to putting Prompto on the spot any further, or maybe he’d figured that their priority had to be a response rather than a full investigation. Either way, he’d kept Prompto’s accomplice firmly rooted in his blind spot until it had come up at their audience.

In that instant, it hadn’t occurred to Prompto to hide it any longer. Sure, he’d been laboring under the suspicion that accusing Drautos would be crossing a line and that they would definitely lock him up then, but with the king demanding to know? With more than an easily discredited prince and his unseasoned chamberlain waiting for him to lie? Well, he hadn’t bothered. If they hadn’t believed him, then at least he’d planted the seed in their heads so that they could look into it or keep their guard up around the guy or  _ something _ . If they  _ did _ …

If they  _ did _ , then all of Lucis would be a hell of a lot safer.

Until the empire showed up.

Swallowing hard, Prompto shook that thought out of his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly while they waited for the elevator that would take them to the same observation deck where everything had come crashing down. It was a strategic locale if not a very logical one: he and Noctis had already been there once, so it wouldn’t be entirely out of left field, especially when it was pretty secluded up there. There wouldn’t be any throwing people off the sides, though--too messy, too easily disproved when there wasn’t a giant splat mark on the pavement way, way,  _ way _ far below. How their actual plan was meant to be any better, however, he wasn’t quite sure.

So, hazarding an askance glimpse of the marshal, he tentatively inquired, “Uh... how’s this supposed to go, anyway?”

After hours of strategizing in the throne room, he hated to admit that there were still bits and pieces that were fuzzy to him. Those were the factors that Ignis, King Regis, and Master Clarus had outlined with all their fancy words.

Because. Y’know.  _ Everybody _ got what that meant.

The marshal cast him a sidelong glance that practically screamed his assumption that Prompto was having second thoughts--which he wasn’t. He  _ totally  _ wasn’t, but this wasn’t the first time since arriving at the Citadel that he had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be tossed off the building. It didn’t help that years of reading Loqi like a book didn’t amount to a pile of the prince’s least favorite vegetable where the marshal was concerned. He had to hand it to the guy: he wasn’t giving away  _ anything _ .

Well, no more than he had to.

“Ignis will handle the more intricate details surrounding Prince Noctis’s alleged death,” the marshal eventually replied, leading the way into the elevator and hitting the button that would take them to Prompto’s possible doom. “He has already spoken to the court physician and procured a place for him to remain hidden. Our main concern is not allowing anyone to believe that your mission and subsequent arrest was so simple.”

_ No pressure. _

Prompto nodded while the marshal gave him the typical, military-grade once over. “Have you ever actually  _ participated  _ in any skirmishes at the border or elsewhere?”

“...Not really?” he hedged, uncertain of where this line of questioning was supposed to lead them or what it had to do with the task at hand. Sure, he hadn’t exactly been on the front lines; to be honest, he’d never gotten past typical guard duty around Gralea. What did that matter, though?

It must have counted for something, seeing as the marshal pinched the bridge of his nose in an obvious attempt to hide how put out he was. “I suppose if we declare that the king wanted you apprehended alive so that he could pass judgement, we can get by with minimal injury to your person.”

Oh. Well. That was...comforting.

Lucky for Prompto, the elevator came to a smooth and steady halt before his stomach  _ entirely _ lurched into his throat, and the marshal stepped out without pause.

“The empire will be leery of the idea that someone with no combat experience was able to meet me as an equal.” There was a beat of silence, then a wry, “At the very least, your commander may raise a fuss.”

Prompto snorted at that, though he didn’t have the heart to enlighten the guy to the fact that if Loqi was upset about anything, it would be that he didn’t get to pull the trigger himself--at him  _ or  _ at Noctis. He wasn’t picky about that kind of thing.

In any case, that wasn’t really the marshal’s concern. Loqi’s charming disposition was Prompto’s cross to bear, albeit not for much longer. If he was fortunate--and if he ended up as dead as he still figured he might--it wasn’t like he’d see his good old commander again anyway.

“I think he’ll be too surprised I actually did it,” he replied as a result, shrugging a shoulder as they emerged onto the observation deck.

Whether the marshal understood his true meaning or not, Prompto apparently wouldn’t find out. The only response he warranted was a noncommittal grunt, which was just fine by him. His life wasn’t the one they needed to be thinking about right now.

The one that  _ did _ take precedence had already arrived and was busy engaging his chamberlain in a game of  _ Just How Close to the Edge Can I Stand Without Being Certified Insane _ . Considering everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours alone, Prompto supposed they were  _ way _ past the point of no return on that one, but he didn’t bother saying so. Instead, he followed close on the marshal’s heels and peered uneasily around at the backdrop of their little sham. Dusk had already begun to fall on the city below, the last vestiges of sunlight cascading across the buildings and bathing everything in an orange hue. It almost would have looked magical if not for the fact that it was about to become the scene of a cold-blooded fake murder.

Which, it seemed, was Ignis’s foremost priority when he ditched Noctis to report to his  _ other _ superior.

“This should be an appropriate location,” Ignis affirmed. Prompto considered it a bit needless given that they’d gone over it ad nauseam all afternoon, but hey, the guy was thorough. “Access to this area is limited, so the lack of witnesses won’t raise suspicions. It should likewise allow us some leeway to fabricate general timeframes for the press.”

The marshal frowned but nevertheless agreed, “It’s a necessary oversight. If we’re lucky, no one will look at it more closely than that.”

Prompto bit his tongue so that he wouldn’t point out that people would have more pressing thoughts on their minds--like lynching the Niff that had allegedly killed their prince, for starters.

Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Noctis abandoned his post to point out, “It’ll do for now. By the time anyone does the math, this’ll all be over anyway.”

“And we’re  _ sure _ this is gonna work?” Prompto chimed in, sounding more certain about the whole thing than he felt. All he knew was that they were going to come up here, he was going to fire a gun, and they’d somehow end up with a toppled empire and minimum civilian casualties. Other than that, he was flying blind, and it wasn’t anywhere near as comforting in Lucis as it had been in Gralea. There,  _ not _ knowing was often for the best; it provided the plausible deniability to let the upper crust get their asses handed to them while you suffered through some minor verbal abuse for your transgressions instead. Here? Well, being an enemy combatant— _ former _ enemy combatant—made the whole thing a little shiftier.

“It’ll work,” Noct waved him off with total surety.

_ Must be nice. _

This whole farce might have been the prince’s own assassination, but somehow, he appeared to be the calmest of the bunch. He didn’t betray an ounce of the anxiety Prompto was attempting to swallow when he continued, “This is the best plan we’ve got. They’re going to try to take Insomnia no matter what, so this is our only shot to get the drop on  _ them _ for a change.”

“That success will be contingent on the intelligence provided to us with regards to the attack,” hinted the marshal none too subtly.

_ Probably should’ve expected that. _

It would have been a smarter move to simply smile and nod, but Prompto’s mouth was a few steps quicker than his brain in retorting, “That was everything I’ve got.”

“Which may be for the best,” interjected Ignis. “In the event that Captain Drautos  _ is _ involved in their ploy, I doubt we would have had long to gather any information after the deed was done. Allowing him to be held prisoner leaves them vulnerable to potential leaks.”

“So, we watch his back,” Noct suggested pointedly. It was amazing how nonchalant he could be about a situation they had already discussed at such lengths that Prompto was sick of hearing it—and it involved his own survival! All the plans in the world didn’t mean the matter was settled, though, as the marshal was quick to remind them.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise that the Crownsguard will make the comfort and safety of a prisoner who murdered their prince their top priority,” he retorted wryly.  

“No biggie,” Prompto hurried to reassure them. “Not like I need the royal treatment or anything.”

Which, apparently, he wouldn’t have gotten anyway. If the smirk on the marshal’s face was any indication, he was probably looking at something a hell of a lot less lavish than his current accommodations regardless of whether he killed the prince or stole a chocobo keychain from a vending machine. Niff blood was Niff blood, and he’d already been lucky enough as it was to get a taste of life on the other side of the fence—or the Wall, as it were.

_ And speaking blood… _

It looked like they were ready to spill some. Well, metaphorically speaking. There wouldn’t be any bodily fluids besides whatever he might wet himself with, lest the king string him up for the kingdom to see. (He could still be planning that, but Prompto was willing to take a leap of faith here. It was better than what Noctis was doing.) He’d just do what the marshal told him when he handed over the same gun Prompto had found in his drawer, stand in the spot Ignis indicated, and follow orders. He was good at that.

When Loqi didn’t give them.

It was funny, come to think of it, that he felt so at ease when his instructions came from the Lucian prince standing opposite him beside the ramparts. Or was it? At this point, Prompto couldn’t keep track of half his thoughts. One minute, he was mentally reprimanding himself for selling out his superiors; the next, he was silently telling them to stuff it and remembering that this was the right thing. Sides didn’t matter—the people on them  _ did _ .

The Lucians knew that. There was no reason for it, but Noctis was trusting him despite his origins. He hadn’t cared why Prompto had been sent and hadn’t altered his behavior at all once he’d found out. The guy was merely waiting for him to raise a firearm in his direction and  _ not _ murder him where he stood—a prince of Lucis and everything Prompto was supposed to hate trusted him not to. Maybe that was what had him obediently grasping the gun in his dominant hand a little steadier and holding himself a little higher. Maybe that was what had him shoving aside his fears about prison cells and executions and all the stuff he’d assumed he had already come to terms with.

They were counting on him. Not a soldier, not Unit 05953234.  _ Prompto. _

_ That _ was what mattered.

So, swallowing his reservations, Prompto pasted a smile on his face and nodded to Noctis. “Ready to die, Your Highness?”

Noctis rolled his eyes at the sound of his title before sighing, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

That made two of them. Prompto had been laboring under the delusion that the hardest thing he’d ever done was leave Gralea, knowing what was going to happen to him. He’d been certain that whatever befell him in Insomnia, nothing he’d ever experienced would come close.

He’d been wrong.

The hardest thing he ever had to do was raise the gun and pull the trigger.

 

***

 

Regis hadn’t moved so quickly in years, and for good reason. His leg protested beneath him, the brace echoing loudly in the silent corridors as he raced towards the guest wing where he was allegedly meant to rendez-vous with his son. If all had indeed gone according to plan.

As far as he could tell, it had. The gunshot had sounded at precisely the moment they had agreed upon; he’d been able to hear it from the throne room, where he should have been listening to the council drone on about the items on their agenda. He could not for the life of him remember what those were, not when more important matters were whirling through his skull like a maelstrom of emotion and fear. The sound of their imperial guest following his orders--from which side had yet to be determined--had brought their meeting to a decided halt, as it was designed to. When Regis had approached the window, it was to see that the guards were all hastening towards the building, some in varying states of confusion while others had their eyes aimed skyward.

That had been their goal: to create a situation in which the nature of Prompto’s interaction with Noctis could not be disputed by passersby. Those who had noticed what was happening would have seen two silhouettes framed against the sunset, one with an arm outstretched while the other, more familiar one fell to the ground. All it would take was a bit of creative storytelling in order to paint the picture that they desired the world to believe was real.

So far, it was working splendidly. Perhaps a bit  _ too _ splendidly.

Reporters had flocked to the streets outside the Citadel in such numbers that Regis had ordered the gates to be closed, claiming that they needed to determine what had happened before they could hope to provide a statement for the press. The one they would release had already been concocted, and the majority of it was even true. The alleged captain  _ was _ cloistered in the prison beneath the Citadel under the heaviest guard Regis could command. Noctis  _ had _ been rushed to the physicians and hidden from anyone besides the doctor they had already informed of their plot. The marshal  _ had _ indicated that he had perished, and Ignis  _ was _ preparing arrangements for what to do with the body. It was all neat and tidy, so much so that it made Regis’s stomach turn and heart ache.

Because he hadn’t been allowed to disprove their story with his own eyes. He hadn’t been granted the privilege of going to his son and ensuring that he was indeed safe. Instead, he had been forced to weather the political storm that had erupted the moment Cor had reported that Noctis had been shot. There were statements to make, orders to be given, and provisions to put into place. There were councilors to inform and retainers to send on errands and citizens to be pacified. As such, he had been forced to wait three hours before he was able to slip away, hardly needing to feign his grief as he’d retired for the evening.

In a sense.

Rather than retreating to his own chambers, Regis raced through the corridors that would lead him to a part of the Citadel that few bothered with. That was why they had chosen it as his son’s abode for the duration of his exile: it was off the beaten track. Even the guards merely swept the location every few hours, not expecting anyone to be living here when guests were not residing within the rooms. Only a select few had been apprised of the situation and knew that there was one inhabitant at the far end of the hall in a suite crafted nearly for royalty. How very ironic that was.

Regis wasn’t certain what he was expecting when he burst through the door, his Shield’s boots clicking behind him in stark contrast to the clanging of his cane and his brace. A small part of him thought that the room would be empty, that Noctis would not be waiting for him as they’d discussed. The consciousness that everything may have gone wrong despite the marshal’s silent reassurances whispered at the back of his mind, reminding him that they had been standing on the edge of a knife poised to steal his son’s life mere hours ago. It lavished in his dark thoughts and sowed seeds of suspicion until, with a sigh of relief, he greeted the sight that he had hoped to see.

His son on the sofa, appearing annoyed at his confinement yet not at all disappointed to be there.

It was impossible not to smile at that, and Regis allowed himself that small comfort as he hurried across the length of the chamber to sit beside Noctis and place a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps it was the gesture of a foolish old man, but he supposed that after today, he had good reason to want physical proof that this was not a hallucination.

“The operation went as anticipated,” he murmured after a moment, hardly a question yet better than sitting in silence.

“We did everything as you requested,”  Noctis confirmed with a stiff smile. “Just wish I had thought to pack a few things first. No offense, but this room is kind of boring.”

Regis couldn’t refrain from chuckling at that. “We can have a few amenities brought to you so long as they do not attract undue attention.”

“So, no video games.”

“No video games.”

Noctis sighed heavily, but it was obvious that the show was merely that--feigned for the sake of the moment. He knew as well as anyone the risks involved if they were to deliver his belongings to him, especially if a spy in the Citadel happened to search his lodgings.

As such, he was hardly surprised when Noctis glanced between him and Clarus before inquiring with a significant inclination of his head, “Everything’s still going okay, right?”

“Entirely according to plan,” Regis reassured him, his own smile wavering slightly. “Your assassin has been imprisoned and a temporary statement issued to the press. It’s only a matter of time before the emperor sends his condolences.”

And, if said assassin was to be believed, his offer to attend the royal funeral.

_ Indeed according to plan. _

Regis had expected a more confident response from Noctis than a deflating expression and the uncertainty that gleamed in his eyes despite their success. Seeing his son unharmed had left him warming somewhat to the finer points of this plot in spite of the anger and indignation that still rankled within him from the emperor’s scheming, yet the concern in Noctis’s gaze renewed that cold sense of dread he had harbored prior to their fateful meeting.

Cor had not mentioned any complications, not in the alleged execution or the hasty action taken in its immediate aftermath, which left but one obvious reason for his lack of celebration. If Noctis was having second thoughts about their endeavor, much as it pained Regis to admit, it was a bit late to curb what they had set into motion.

He opened his mouth, intent on firmly yet gently delivering that unfortunate news, when Noctis surprised him yet again.

“Has Gladio found out yet?” he inquired tentatively, undoubtedly unsure of whether he wanted the answer. Regis understood the sentiment intimately: it was one that he fostered himself.

Exchanging a glance with his own Shield, Regis shook his head and attempted to make light of the situation when he assured him, “If he had, you would know.” At his son’s perplexed frown, he added, “I suspect that he will tear the facade of the Citadel off on his way in.”

_ Like father, like son _ , he mused silently. After all, while Regis hated to presume anything, he and Clarus were inextricably linked by a brotherhood that went far deeper than the relationships Regis had had with anyone except Aulea. In the event that something happened to him, unlikely as it was with such care taken regarding his safety, there was no question as to how Clarus would react. He was more than a Shield, more than a friend, more than a  _ brother _ \--and he would lay the culprits lower than the six feet required. Of that, Regis was positive.

He couldn’t claim to be as familiar with Gladiolus or have any knowledge of his relationship with Noctis, but he hardly believed that they would be any different. If anything, given the younger Shield’s personality, it would likely be worse for everyone involved.

That was not something that Noctis needed to hear at the moment, however. He had plenty to be getting on with--they all did--without the added benefit of shouldering the guilt that accompanied Gladiolus’s forced ignorance. They had to be realistic. They had to be monarchs.

Monarchs did not have time for grief and regret.

“The game is set,” he sighed. “The pieces are moving. For now, we must tread lightly and accept the consequences as we encounter them.”

Noctis nodded, visibly setting his apprehension aside. The smirk that spread across his lips was sarcastic when he replied, “Right. I guess it’s up to them to make the next move, anyway. So, I’ll just wait. Here. Doing nothing.”

“Considering that Your Highness is presumed dead,” Clarus interjected teasingly, “I would say that doing nothing is your best option.”

“Sounds fun,” snorted Noctis, his expression sobering somewhat when his gaze met Regis’s once more. “Thanks for letting us do this, Dad.”

“You have no reason to thank me,” Regis offered gently. Decades of practice helped him refrain from grimacing openly, but there was no denying that if he could have avoided this course of action, he most certainly would have. Instead, he swallowed his own anxiety and continued, “It is the duty of any king to safeguard his people. In orchestrating this plot, you have done that and more. You should be proud of yourself, Noctis.”

“I figure I should probably wait until this is all over before I start patting myself on the back,” Noctis evaded with the ease of someone modest enough not to take credit for plots of his own devising. “Ignis and Prompto helped too.”

Nodding, Regis countered, “Perhaps, yet you should not discount your contribution to this venture. As a  _ leader _ .”

That, indeed, could oftentimes be more difficult than the alternative. For Ignis and even Prompto, there was a level of ease that Regis and Noctis would never be able to enjoy. Theirs was an existence of servitude, to some extent. While Ignis was an advisor and instrumental in the construction of their plot, his would not be the reputation at stake if it failed; while Prompto had provided the information upon which their plan hinged, he likewise had the protection of the crown to fall back on. Royalty was not the same. As monarch, Regis would take full responsibility for whatever befell Lucis as a direct or even indirect consequence of their actions. It would be his name that the history books either venerated or cursed long after his reign ended. The legacy of a leader was decided not by the motions of those destined to follow their orders, but by their own. That being the case, Regis had learned to take credit where he could and offer it just as frequently.

And, unfortunately, there was another member of his retinue that required a bit of credit for themselves.

So, Regis smiled reluctantly and laid a reassuring hand on Noctis’s shoulder when he apologetically sighed, “I am afraid I must leave you now. Cor will be waiting to provide insight into the public’s reaction and the  _ captain’s _ incarceration.”

Noctis nodded tersely. “I figured. It might look pretty suspicious if you keep disappearing on everyone.”

That was true, not that it would deter Regis from doing precisely that as often as he liked. Realistically, he recognized that he would be unable to slip away so frequently; there was business to be conducted and, ostensibly, funerary arrangements to be made. He would only be able to feign grief for so long before his absence was suspected rather than respected. That, however, would simply mean that he had to be cautious, not avoid his son entirely.

Noctis must have recognized that as well, for he did not press the subject in either direction. A moment passed where it appeared as though his son wished to say something more, the unspoken words hanging in the air as the seconds and the silence stretched between them. Ultimately, he chose not to voice whatever he had been considering, and he merely offered a sheepish smile instead.

“I’ll be here, then,” he remarked, rising with Regis and accompanying him to the door. It was with a father’s intuition that he noticed the subtle closeness and nearly imperceptible glances that spoke of a desire for company without expressing it openly--a desire that Regis shared more often than he cared to admit lest he shirk his royal responsibilities in favor of more pleasurable pastimes.

Regis could not accommodate him, not this time, but that did not stop him from leveling his son with a stern yet playful gaze nevertheless. “You will indeed.”

“Yeah. So... I’ll see you later?”

Nodding, Regis echoed, “You will indeed.”

It was a promise he intended to keep. All the deities in the heavens knew that he had been a poor father in that regard, although it certainly made him an excellent king. Not even his child could come between him and his duties, which was all anyone could hope for in a monarch. It left a great deal to be desired in a parent, however, and Regis silently swore as he left Noctis behind that he would return to see him no matter what waylaid him. They were playing a dangerous game, one where they could not be certain of the outcome. If the empire saw through their ruse, then it would mean certain destruction for Insomnia; if the spies were within the Wall as their imperial guest alleged, then their end could come as swiftly or slowly as their enemies wanted. In these days, in this time, all Regis had were his promises. He could not vow to keep Noctis safe regardless of his endeavors to the contrary, nor could he promise to protect that which he would inherit someday.

Swearing to remain at his side, though? That was one promise he would keep if it killed him.

That resolve propelled him forward even when he wished for nothing more than to turn back and remain in his son’s new lodgings a while longer. It saw him through the corridors and the lifts, his Shield at his heels, until he reached his chambers and the marshal waiting within. In this instance, Regis supposed there was little to distrust in his presence: while it was ordinarily his practice not to interrupt Regis with business during the few personal hours he could snatch, the situation necessitated it in both reality and the fiction they had concocted for the public. To the latter, he was serving a grand purpose. Cor would doubtless be providing Regis with valuable intelligence about the operation that had taken his son’s life and accepting whatever orders he was to follow in punishing their prisoner.

The truth of the matter was somewhat different yet equally important. Regis had indeed agreed to this subterfuge, but that did not mean that he entirely trusted their erstwhile assassin.

In that case, perhaps the public was not entirely wrong--the marshal  _ was _ here to deliver intelligence.

“What did you discover?” Regis demanded as soon as Clarus locked the door behind them.

“There was not much to find, Your Majesty,” Cor replied with a casual yet appropriately deferential genuflection. “I confiscated all of the personal items he brought with him. Nothing suggests a plot against the prince’s life besides his words.”

“You’ve brought his belongings here?” Clarus inquired, his gaze hard and skeptical despite the ease with which the operation had been accomplished thus far.

Cor nodded and gestured towards the small box that he had apparently left on the table in Regis’s sitting room. “I also had the Crownsguard sweep the chamber for any monitoring or communication devices that the empire may have installed during their stay.”

“And?”

“Nothing. If he  _ was  _ given orders to assassinate the prince, that was all they left with him. The majority of his effects were provided by Prince Noctis.”

That came as no surprise considering the fact that Noctis had admitted to purchasing a bit more for their imperial guest than his retainers had been comfortable with. Regis supposed that that would make the search simpler than anticipated, however. After all, it would have taken longer to sift through Prompto’s belongings had he brought them with him from Gralea.

It was with a pang of something akin to pity that Regis glanced into the box to discover that there was rather little inside. Clothing, of course, would have been left in his chambers; he would have no use for it where he was now, and they couldn’t very well provide him with his imperial robes under the circumstances. The rest was a meager collection of artifacts that Regis couldn’t quite make sense of, they were so eclectic in their composition. A wilting balloon animal was wedged into the corner beside a water globe filled with undersea creatures. An impressive collection of wristbands occupied most of the space beside it, likely so that he would have a reasonable selection in order to hide the barcode that adorned the wrist of Aldercapt’s lackeys. Their function was twofold in this instance: while they were doubtless designed to provide some measure of anonymity to their wearer, they simultaneously cushioned an impressively expensive camera where it was carefully settled in the opposite corner.

“Was this included in the initial manifest?” Regis inquired with a frown as he gingerly retrieved the device.

“No,” the marshal replied. “Prince Noctis purchased it for him.”

Ah. So  _ that _ was what Ignis and Gladio had been so ill at ease over. For his part, Regis could not blame them. Any recording apparatus, be it stationary or dynamic, was as good as a weapon in the hands of an enemy. Spies could gather data well enough with their eyes, but adding a camera to the mix lent their words more credence with those to whom they had to report. If the nature of their guest had turned out differently, if he had wished Noctis harm as he had been ordered to, then Regis could imagine that his son’s gift would have been a valuable tool indeed to tear Lucis apart from the inside.

It may have been regardless.

That thought had Regis tapping the button to activate the camera, the logo flashing momentarily across the screen before he was allowed access to the images that the faux captain had captured. He wasn’t certain what to expect at first. The boy hadn’t been permitted near any sensitive information, to Regis’s knowledge; Ignis was cautious not to leave confidential materials in plain sight when an enemy was in the vicinity, nor was Noctis so foolhardy as to share such information with someone he hadn’t known long at all. Anything he could have recorded would be based in the city’s structure, which was hardly of use when the envoys had witnessed that with their own eyes. Insomnia was no great secret to friend or foe, the layout of the Crown City available for all to see. It wasn’t the most secure approach, but there was little to be done when they couldn’t silence those who came and went of their own volition. The same could be said of Gralea or Altissia--there was only so much a monarch could do to safeguard their homeland before they had to leave it in the hands of the Six.

Whether their guest had recognized the same or he merely had other thoughts on his mind, Regis could not say. Even so, he prayed for the latter when he scanned the pictures and discovered that the camera was full of images that he hardly thought a soldier would carry. There were no monuments or grainy photos of the guards that were stationed at intervals around the palace and the city as a whole; he hadn’t taken any apparent interest in the structure of the streets or the buildings that lined them. Instead, there were  _ flowers _ . There were dogs. There were parks and clouds and all manner of subjects that Regis took for granted himself without thought to the idea that people might take a deeper delight in them. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was peering into the visit of a tourist, someone who was fascinated by Insomnia but ultimately planning to store the pictures as keepsakes rather than nefarious tools of invasion.

A tourist, however, would not have quite so many photos with Noctis. It seemed that every other picture was a combination of the four of them--Prompto, Noctis, Ignis, and Gladiolus--in some venture or other. Here, Prompto had caught his son’s Shield grinning at something that his charge had said, his gaze elevated as though he’d only just rolled his eyes; there, Ignis was staring flatly at Noctis where the latter was shrugging in seeming innocence when Regis was well aware that he must have shirked some responsibility or other. More than one image saw Prompto turning the camera on himself, either with Noctis making a rude gesture in the background or Ignis smiling mildly or Gladiolus attempting to shove him when he realized that he was on the screen. One after the other, they spanned the memory of the device until Regis was sure that they monopolized the collection.

A spy would not do that. An enemy would not do that.

And in that instant, a smile stretched across his face. While the boy in his dungeon might not have been guiltless, his innocence was beginning to come into focus with each new discovery. Perhaps, if he was optimistic about their chances of escaping this trial unscathed, there would be a place for him in the Lucis that Regis hoped to create. There was certainly one in Noctis’s retinue--of that, he had no doubt.


	17. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - thank you for your patience!

_ “Fellow Lucians, it is with deepest sorrow that I inform you of the tragedy that occurred within the walls of the Citadel today.” _

He rushed down the street, heedless of the passersby that clogged the intersections in his haste. None of them mattered anyway. They were meaningless specks in the grand scheme of the universe. They were bags of flesh and bone held together by tendon and sinew. There were millions more like them all over the place, both inside the Crown City and outside Lucis as a whole. What did he care if they glared after him or shouted profanity when he knocked them aside? Their voices weren’t the one he needed to hear, nor were they the one that echoed through his skull instead. 

_ “At approximately six o’clock this evening, a betrayal most nefarious shook the foundations of our society and our government.”  _

“Hey, watch it!” 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn to see who it was that shouted at him. He just kept going, kept rushing because there was no way to run in the crowd that congregated along every street corner to listen to the same news report that he had been subjected to a few minutes ago. Or was it longer? He couldn’t tell. Everything was a blur from the time he’d gotten home to the moment his sister had switched on the news. His footfalls pounding against the concrete, Iris’s cries for him to come back, Jared’s offer of a ride--he hardly remembered them. They were white noise against the backdrop of something he couldn’t identify. 

Something he didn’t  _ want _ to identify, because it couldn’t be true. It just  _ couldn’t _ . 

_ “A lone gunman, an imperial guest of the Lucian monarchy as a show of good faith following the peace proceedings, lured Prince Noctis to a remote location. The reason he gave is as yet undetermined. Nevertheless, it was there that the traitor of both kingdoms accosted the prince.” _

The gates. The courtyard. The steps. He didn’t actually see any of it. All that lay before him was a long tunnel, painted red with fury and the blood that should never have been spilt--not on his watch. Faces followed him as he passed, stepping out of his way because they knew better than to inhibit him, but they were blank. Expressionless. They had no mouths or eyes or pitying gazes or incensed glares. They didn’t judge him, or perhaps their silence was judgment enough. Whatever it was, they blended into the scenery, coated in the same crimson hellscape that had dragged him into its depths as he burst through the doors into the lobby. 

_ “Assistance was dispatched as soon as the shot was heard. The Crownsguard apprehended the suspect, and he was immediately taken into custody. His Highness was rushed to the infirmary--” _

There was no one here. Why was there no one here?

_ “--with all due haste. Such was the speed with which the Crownsguard responded that they did not pause to assess--” _

That was fine. An empty lobby meant a clear path to the elevators, where he jammed the  _ up  _ button so hard that he distantly wondered if it would crack under the use of force. That, too, would be fine. At least it would match everything else that had broken.

_ “--the prince’s condition. It was not until they arrived and medical attention was supplied that the full extent--” _

It wasn’t moving fast enough. He should have taken the stairs--this goddamn elevator wasn’t moving  _ fast _ enough.

_ “--of the damage was discovered. My fellow Lucians--” _

He was sprinting out the doors before they’d fully slid open, making a beeline straight for the retinue that was gathered around the infirmary entrance at the end of the corridor.

_ “--I regret to inform you that Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum--” _

Guards turned in his direction before he’d gone a few steps, the nearest one holding out a hand to stop him as if he had the  _ right _ .

_ “--heir apparent to the throne of Lucis--” _

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in there.”

“The hell I can’t! Get out of my way.”

_ “--and ordained beneficiary of the Astrals’ blessings--” _

Multiple hands grabbed at his clothing in an attempt to pull him back, but they didn’t stop him. They weren’t going to stop him now, not when he was so damn close. He reached over his shoulder and wrapped his hand around a disembodied wrist--or so it seemed, since he didn’t give a shit who was on the other side of it--then twisted until he heard a grunt of pain. Fingers released him, but where they abandoned their post, two other pairs of arms wrapped around him.

“Let me through!” he roared.

The first guard, utterly unmoved, shook his head. “We can’t do that, sir. We have our orders.”

“On whose authority?!”

“The king’s.”

_ “--has been killed.” _

Gladio froze, his fists still clenched and his muscles still taut and his legs still prepared to pounce if that was what it took to break the barricade that stood between him and where Noct was being held.

But he didn’t. He didn’t do any of that, because with those two words, all the fight fled from him.

“The king’s,” he echoed tonelessly, watching the guard opposite him nod in fervent resolution.

“He decreed that no one is to enter the infirmary until arrangements can be made.”

“Arrangements for what?”

For the first time since he’d gotten there, the guy appeared to be at a loss for words. His eyes scanned the faces that had to be staring back at him over Gladio’s shoulder as if begging one of them to answer his question rather than having to muster the guts to do it himself.

In another world, Gladio would have mentally reprimanded himself for giving him a hard time long before his father had a chance to verbally do it. They were all the same, even if his own stature in the monarchical hierarchy was a little more advanced than these scrubs regardless of their uniforms. Their job was to protect Lucis, the Citadel, and the royal family. They couldn’t afford to toss around their ranks and build walls when their lives--and everyone else’s--might depend on them working together. Gladio had been taught that since he was a kid, and he’d never encountered a situation where he saw fit to stomp all over that lesson.

Until now.

Because right now, it was nothing but shit. He was the goddamn Shield of the future king of Lucis. If he wanted to get into that room, he should have been able to. Only the king’s orders were keeping him out, and at the moment, he was a bit fuzzy on why he’d made them in the first place. Maybe it was his own refusal to accept the account of events he’d heard his father recite on the radio in King Regis’s place without visual evidence, or maybe he had lost his mind somewhere between the house and the Citadel. Whichever, one fact remained: those  _ arrangements _ were going to need to be spelled out for him. He wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions when he didn’t have Noct in front of his face, whatever condition he might be in.

The audience to his denial (or maybe just his stupidity) must have realized that. Instead of providing him with an immediate answer, they hesitated until he was about ready to start physically dragging the answers out of them.

When he finally got one, it wasn’t from the mouth he’d expected.

“The funeral,” Ignis solemnly supplied from where he’d apparently been standing in the doorway to the infirmary. It was a testament to the unreality of the situation that Gladio hadn’t noticed him, none of his features having penetrated the thick haze of every emotion imaginable that covered him from head to toe.

Maybe that was why Gladio wanted to call bullshit on the whole thing. Maybe that was why the numb emptiness disintegrated to be replaced by an all-consuming, insurmountable sense of mingled dread and rage that had Gladio vacillating between running and fighting these people who were meant to be his allies. It was in the  _ calm _ that Ignis exuded despite the exhaustion that rolled off him in waves; Gladio could spy it in every tense line on his face and the stiffness of his spine. That wasn’t the Ignis he should have been seeing—wasn’t the  _ person _ he should have been seeing if Noct was really gone. There was no calm, no peace, no  _ sense _ .

But that was all he saw when he looked at Ignis. He saw an advisor, a chamberlain, a retainer who was just doing his job.

Gladio looked at him and saw a politician dead set on damage control.

That would have been all well and good if it were anyone else. Even the Crownsguard bozos were understandable: they weren’t Noct’s friends. They hadn’t grown up with him and been there for all his successes and failures alike. Their duty as his protectors was a formality, a distant responsibility alongside all the others.

The two of them, though? Gladio and Ignis? What they should have been doing was mounting that double-crossing imperial weasel's head on a pike after ripping it off his shoulders with their bare hands. They should have been in the dungeons by now or at Noct’s side, watching over him like he’d failed to do because he had allowed Iris to sway his judgment. They should have murdered that little sneak before he had a chance to do it first.

Instead, Ignis was behaving as if Gladio had asked what was for dinner. Any other day, that would have been typical. Violence was admittedly more Gladio’s approach to a given situation while Ignis would always remain unshakably  _ Ignis _ .

And Gladio hated that—and  _ him— _ almost as much as he hated himself right about now.

The carefully honed dignity and respect for authority that had been drilled into his head since he was a kid shattered under the weight of Ignis’s scrutiny, his despicable  _ complacence.  _ Not a thought for his words or how they might sound occurred to him when he distantly ground out, “How the hell did this happen?”

Ignis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath as if he found no pleasure in recounting the story. It was perhaps the only human response he’d exhibited since Gladio had gotten here.

Too bad his actual explanation didn’t lend itself to forgiveness.

“Prompto requested they return to the observation deck to capture some  _ shots _ he had been unable to take before,” he recited in exasperated monotone. “Noct, of course, obliged.”

“And where were  _ you _ ?!” snarled Gladio, the hands that hadn’t yet retreated tightening again on his arms as he stepped forward. What he planned to do, he didn’t really know, but it would have been spectacular, that was for sure.

If Ignis was at all intimidated, he didn’t show it. All he did was murmur, “I felt no reason to accompany them when they had been left unsupervised before.”

Unsupervised?

Unsupervised.

_ That  _ was what they were calling it? Sure, they’d been alone last time, but not because Gladio had been jumping at the prospect. It had been Noct’s idea on a day when he’d been capable of handling himself. And, as it happened, that made all the difference.

Letting him go— _ alone _ —at the behest of someone who never asked anything? That should have been  _ suspicious,  _ not reason to turn the other way.

The rest of Ignis’s explanation was lost to him, a seemingly endless droning on about  _ shots were heard _ and  _ too late when we arrived _ and  _ he was apprehended _ and  _ His Majesty will decide the punishment. _ As if any of that mattered. As if it did anything to absolve Gladio of the crime he’d committed that day—the crime  _ Ignis _ had committed—the crime they’d  _ all _ committed.

They weren’t there. No one had been there, and not only had Noct died because of it, but he’d died the same as he’d gone to the observation deck: alone.

Gladio wasn’t sure when his breathing grew erratic. He couldn’t say if his reason left him during Ignis’s worthless pandering or after. It was like when he’d left the house earlier, and the world narrowed to two points of existence that tore him in half as he irrationally debated which was more deserving of his attention. On the one hand, his place was with Noct even now. He belonged in that room where no one would let him tread, hovering over a body that would be covered with a sheet or zipped into a bag or dumped in a glorified fridge. Shields didn’t just guard their charges in life, and seeing as he’d done a piss poor job of that today, he might as well make good on his vows now that they were moot.

On the other hand, there was an assassin in desperate need of defenestration. Ordinarily, Gladio would have said that what was good for the chocobo was good for the chick and that they should shoot the prick with his own gun, but that was too easy. It was too  _ clean _ . Prompto had destroyed the only person on the goddamn planet who mattered more than any other. He didn’t deserve  _ clean _ —he deserved to be torn apart the same way Gladio’s organs were eviscerating themselves one after the other in the sacrifice he should have made to keep his charge safe.

Unfortunately, there were guards standing between him and both of them, which meant he had no outlet but the one standing before him. The one who had failed just as he had.

“That ain’t good enough!” Gladio roared. He didn’t attempt to curb his incandescent outrage, not even when he felt his limbs being restrained by a bunch of idiots who had no idea he could toss them aside as easy as breathing. They weren’t worth his time as he viciously spat, “You knew Noct put him on the spot last time. You  _ knew  _ he backed ‘im into a corner, and you just  _ let them go _ ?!  _ The hell were you thinking _ ?!”

_ The hell was  _ I  _ thinking for leaving in the goddamn first place? _

Ignis’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not in anyone’s best interests to be pointing fingers. We must present a united front in the face of this tragedy.”

Shaking his head in utter contempt, Gladio shrugged off his so-called restraints and growled, “Yeah, wouldn’t wanna ruin our  _ image _ over a dead prince, right?”

That one hit home. Hard. Gladio could see the second it sliced through Ignis’s last nerve, not that the asshole bothered to react. That would have been too perfect—an opportunity for Gladio to put a fist through his face like he was itching to. Ignis must have known it and was holding back purely to spite him.

_ Maybe if he’d tried the same thing with that imperial rat, Noct would still be alive. _

Maybe if he’d tried the same thing with the imperial rat, he wouldn’t have had the guts to tell Gladio with careful, diplomatic impassivity, “We cannot afford the luxury of grief. There are, as we’ve mentioned, arrangements to be made.”

Arrangements. Yeah, they had plenty to do; he had that much right. The flowers needed to be the perfect shade for a funeral: not too jaunty yet not so solemn as to add even more sobriety to the occasion. They’d need a seating chart so that every dignitary in Eos could come pretend that they cared beyond their political obligations. The schedule would have to be set and the reception catered; pictures would be chosen from amidst the endless collections that had accumulated since Noct was born. They’d get fitted for ceremonial uniforms they neither needed nor deserved when they’d failed in their foremost endeavor—the one purpose that existed for them.

Plenty to do. So much, in fact, that they were forgetting the most important part.

“Yeah,” Gladio replied steadily. “There are.”

With that, he shoved the guards out of his way and started purposefully towards the elevator. Since he was the unluckiest bastard to walk the planet (not to mention the dumbest for being taken in by a conman), though, Ignis didn’t take the hint.

“The king will see to Prompto’s punishment,” he offered as if that meant a goddamn thing. As far as Gladio was concerned, the king wasn’t innocent in this either: he’d agreed and even encouraged that farce of a friendship despite Gladio’s misgivings. The blood was on his hands just like it dripped from his own.

But that wasn’t something he felt like sharing with Ignis, who strode beside him as if Gladio was going to let him get into that elevator. If that was what he thought, though, he had another thing coming. He’d rather take the stairs down to the cells than be alone with Ignis any longer than absolutely necessary. Right now, just looking at him made Gladio’s blood boil and his fists long to get up close and personal with his glasses.

Slamming the button for the lift as hard as he could and cursing inwardly when it didn’t shatter under his weight, Gladio didn’t bother even glancing at him as he tonelessly replied, “You’d better get a move on, then, huh? Wouldn’t want to miss giving him a comfortable blanket and a three-course meal before King Regis sends him back to Gralea.”

Because he had no other choice, right? The treaty tied their hands, so when the empire caught wind of this, those assholes would probably demand that Prompto was returned to them to face their brand of punishment. Of course, that likely meant a medal of distinction, but it wasn’t as if the king had a leg to stand on. He’d do it with a political smile while he tossed dirt on his son’s grave, just like he’d buried Lucis at the negotiations with nothing but civility.

Yeah, Gladio got the necessity. That didn’t mean he couldn’t hate it.

And Ignis, who tried to follow him into the elevator only for Gladio to shove him in the chest and jab the button to close the doors.

“Sorry, this one’s full. Traitors go on the next ride.”

Not an ounce of remorse colored his glare as he let the door slide shut and leaned against the railing, selecting a floor at random. He knew there was no point in heading straight to the cells now: Ignis was probably already on the phone telling the guards down there to shore up and treat  _ him _ like the enemy instead of the real rat here. No, if he was going to do this, then he needed to think it through.

Which was a hell of a lot harder when it was finally hitting him. Alone with nothing but four walls and the careless gods to see his anguish, Gladio really felt it—the  _ loss _ , the  _ absence  _ of the person that should have been in this very building. It wasn’t that he and Noct were joined at the hip or anything—far from it. They needed their space, especially when they tended to butt heads over the dumbest stuff sometimes. Still, Gladio had always taken some comfort from the knowledge that he was inside the Citadel or at his apartment before he’d moved back. He could always guess where Noct was, and as long as he was breathing, all was right with the world.

It wasn’t now. There was a hole in everything—his mind, his chest, the floor of the elevator—that grew wider with each passing moment. Even without seeing a body, even with the understanding that he wouldn’t get to see a body until they were burying it, the awful truth was sinking in.

He couldn’t call Noct’s phone to make sure he was there. No one would answer.

He couldn’t head to Noct’s quarters and grab some Cup Noodles from his stash. No one would be irate at him over it.

He couldn’t retire to the training rooms and wait for their next session. No one would come.

On and on it went, his brain working through all the ways life would be different without Noct until it didn’t matter if he was truly gone or not—Gladio felt his loss as if Prompto had cut a hole in his chest and ripped his heart out with his bare hands and that stupid grin on his face. The grin they’d thought so innocent when it only held the worst of intentions. Honestly, Gladio didn’t want that memory, didn’t want to dwell on that imperial shark and the fury that had him wringing the metal rail in his hands as if it was Prompto’s neck. The pain didn’t bother him where the sharp edges dug into his palms enough to draw blood; it didn’t register through the thick smoke that clouded everything until he couldn’t tell up from down or whether he’d reached his floor or where the hell that floor even  _ was _ .

All he knew was that Noct was gone, he was no longer a Shield, and the world had stopped spinning.

Because he should have been there. Because he should have been there, and he  _ wasn’t. _

Instead, he had been carting around Iris’s shopping bags as if her dumb  _ brother-sister  _ day mattered. As if it was more important than the life hanging in the balance.

More important than the assassin he’d let into the Citadel and started to trust.

Gladio wasn’t sure when he sank to his knees in the middle of the elevator, nor could he begin to feel grateful that no one happened upon him looking less like a Shield than anyone in history, not that it meant anything anymore. Noct was gone.

Noct was gone.

Noct was  _ gone _ .

And Gladio would get his pound of flesh out of the perpetrator regardless of Ignis or King Regis or anyone else. By the time they had a chance to stop him, he would have gouged a few chunks out of himself anyway.

 

***

 

While harsh, Ignis conceded that Gladio’s reaction towards him was not at all undeserved. If anything, he thought perhaps he had gotten off a bit too easily. One thing was certain, however: he did not wish to fathom Gladio’s response when he found out it was all a farce if this had gone so devastatingly. The only saving grace was that at least there would be others to share the burden in the former case. Noct, Prompto, the marshal—even Master Clarus and the king himself were potential targets for Gladio’s ire once the truth of the situation was bestowed upon him. Ignis could only hope that when all was said and done, Gladio would understand. Part of him believed that he would, that there was no possibility for a Shield to ignore the logic of the matter. Even so, there was another, more rational side of him that highly doubted it would be so simple. He’d grown up with Gladio and was well aware of his unique personality. No, they would be making this subterfuge up to him for a very long time. 

This was not the time to dwell on such things, though. While not the quite the arrangement Ignis had spoken of, there was still work to be done.

Unlike Gladio and anyone else outside the king’s confidence, Ignis was not forbidden from visiting Prompto. In fact, it was Ignis’s duty to work alongside him in order to predict the details of Niflheim’s responding strike.

And while it wasn’t his priority, Ignis found himself wishing to inquire more about Captain Drautos’s involvement—for his own peace of mind.

Taking a deep, calming breath as the lingering hostility threatened to poison him, Ignis descended to the dungeons and left the foul scent of grief behind.

Or so he thought.

The guards on duty outside the cells were so morose that Ignis supposed it would not have been remiss of him to ask who had died under different circumstances. In these, however, he knew better. He didn’t have to be intelligent nor perceptive to sense the stale tension or the unveiled hatred with which the operatives on duty occasionally glanced towards Prompto’s temporary abode. If it were him and their places were reversed, Ignis would have been hard-pressed not to avenge his liege’s death in the quiet hours of useless patrol. That they had not taken to arms yet, however unlikely as that was to last, struck him as a hopeful note. They might very well get away with this facade yet.

The extent of Prompto’s solemnity when Ignis stepped into his enclosure, nodding to the guard as he locked the door behind him, aided the overall effect. An assassin, especially one skilled enough to fell a prince in broad daylight, would not rave triumphantly; he would not celebrate or goad his captors into attack. Rather, one of such unique abilities would do precisely as Prompto was: sit quietly and wait for the end to come, whatever that might be. The cell was comfortable enough, albeit nowhere near as accommodating as the quarters he’d vacated upstairs, but the sheer lack of freedom would have unnerved anyone.

Anyone but a soldier who had been held captive his entire life, that was. That, too, helped the act.

“I trust you have been treated according to your government’s expectations?” Ignis inquired loudly enough that he was confident he’d be heard if anyone was waiting for a show.

Prompto’s eyes darted to the door and back before he responded in detached— _ fake _ —monotone, “Better than I would’ve thought for killing your prince. He  _ is _ dead, right?”

“That is none of your concern,” Ignis waved his inquiry aside dismissively with a more significant nod of approval. That was exactly what the guards would expect to hear, so it was comforting to know they were on the same page.

But the farce couldn’t continue forever, and there was business to be discussed. As such, Ignis stepped further into his cell and lowered his voice so that their audience would hear nothing but unintelligible whispers.

“No incidents, I presume?” he murmured. Cor had pledged to task his best with keeping watch over their  _ prisoner _ , which meant he had assigned those most likely to follow orders rather than seek their own vengeance. It wasn’t a guarantee of anything, considering the circumstances, but it was a step in the right direction.

Prompto, unsurprisingly, seemed not to mind one way or another. Instead, he offered a lackadaisical shrug and whispered, “So far, so good. Except the whole  _ death glare _ thing.”

“Ah. That’s to be expected.”

“You don’t have to tell me, dude.”

Smirking, Ignis mentally counted his blessings that they had been graced with such a flexible traitor—not for the first time—and hurriedly pressed on, “I’m afraid we don’t have long to speak. I merely needed a bit more information.”

While Noct had given him the honor of checking in on their co-conspirator, Ignis admittedly had his own ulterior motives for visiting that the king would undoubtedly frown upon. Naturally, he trusted that Master Clarus would investigate the threat within the Glaive with all haste. However… Well, Ignis wasn’t perfect regardless of how Gladio tended to tease him for his aversion to mistakes. As such, he had his own curiosity to satisfy.

A curiosity that unintentionally set Prompto ill at ease.

“Uh, I kinda gave you everything I had?” he squeaked, hazarding a glance at the door.

_ Impossible. _

Ignis wasn’t pessimistic enough to believe that Prompto was voluntarily withholding information, not when the answer was a much simpler one. He’d been entrenched in imperial politics for so long that it was quite possible he’d absorbed something seemingly unimportant that may well be the key to their plight.

At least, Ignis hoped so. Otherwise, it was unlikely they’d be able to make a case for believing Prompto’s word over the captain of the Glaive. One didn’t make his way through the ranks as a traitor without knowing how to cover their tracks, and if there was one thing Ignis was certain of, it was that Drautos was among their most lauded soldiers for a reason.

“You realize it will be difficult for the Lucian populace to accept an imperial assassin’s accusations rather than a high-ranking military official with a spotless record,” Ignis hissed. “You were informed by your superiors that he was working for the empire. Did they tell you anything further about his role in this plot?”

Prompto blinked, staring at him as though he’d lost his mind.

“Dude. They  _ didn’t  _ tell me.”

Well, that put a damper on both his mood and his designs. Even so, Ignis hadn’t been trained in the art of diplomatic maneuvering for nothing. Plan B it was.

“Then we shall have to find other methods of verifying his guilt. I trust that between you and Noct, perhaps one of you will think of something. Neither of you has much else to do at present besides stare at the walls,” he added apologetically.

A soft snort of laughter escaped Prompto’s throat, but he immediately covered it with a cough and a cautious glance at the door. When no one barged in to check whether Ignis had punched him or joked with a criminal, he whispered, “Guess it’s a super good thing I’m a champion wall-starer, huh?”

“That’s not a word.”

“Totally should be. Plus a sport. I’d have a medal in it.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” scoffed Ignis quietly.

Sighing, he peered over his shoulder towards the door. The longer he lingered, the more suspicion he risked engendering. Prompto also seemed to be aware of it given the wary glances he leveled at the portal.

_ Time is up. _

“I shall speak with Noct and determine our next move,” Ignis assures him, moving closer to the door. “As discussed, we will not be able to communicate often, but I shall inform you of our progress when it is safe to do so.”

Prompto nodded, apparently undeterred by the idea of being left alone once more. That was why Ignis regretted adding, “Gladio is aware of your treachery. It wouldn’t be exaggerating to say he is not a fan of either of us at the moment. While I hope that he will follow orders and leave this matter to the king, I am not entirely confident that he won’t attempt some retribution of his own.”

Not that Prompto would be able to do a great deal to stop Gladio if he did, of course. He was doubtless well trained by the empire, but Gladio was a Shield. It was his duty to destroy whatever needed to be obliterated in order to protect—or, in this case, avenge—Noct. Perhaps it was cruel to drop it in Prompto’s lap like this, yet it simply seemed fair that he had a bit of advance warning.

Fortunately, Prompto was strong enough to take it standing up. That was a bit of good luck.

“Gotcha,” he murmured with a solid yet tremulous smile. “No surprises, right?”

“No,” agreed Ignis. “None indeed.”

That was the point of this whole venture. Plotting Noct’s demise, organizing this farce, leaving Prompto alone in the dungeons so that he could deliberate over how they should respond to the situation with Drautos—no surprises.

_ No _ surprises at all, if he could help it.


	18. Conspirators

Two days. Just two days.

In that time, the Citadel experienced a level of upheaval that Ignis couldn’t say he’d witnessed in the past. Everyone seemed to be in varying states of shock and discomfort: retainers, guards, the populace at large. They were constantly aware of the eyes that scrutinized their every motion from outside the palace gates, each pair seeking equal measures of comfort and satisfaction that were hardly forthcoming given the circumstances. There was simply too much to be done, both personally and professionally. The king was in and out of meetings with anyone remotely connected to their daily operations, dictating memorandums and delegating tasks that others deemed beneath his station. He fielded retainers carrying cryptic messages and solemn expressions; he navigated the steady stream of Kingsglaive operatives who never left him alone in the wake of their purported loss. To their knowledge, the line of succession ended with King Regis, which meant he must be protected at all costs until they determined where to go from here. After all, their monarch was aging quickly both by the light of the Crystal and the natural march of time itself. As such, it would not be so easy as conceiving another heir.

Not that they would require such services, but the rest of the kingdom wasn’t exactly aware of that. It was a good thing they knew better than to suggest it, though. Something told Ignis that Noct would not be amenable to the prospect of gaining a younger sibling after so many years in pleasant solitude.

Then again, Noct might not have minded so much when he had spent the last forty-eight hours in seclusion. He’d done little but stare at the walls, oddly enough, channeling Prompto’s social plans almost identically. Besides the brief visits that Ignis and the king seldom managed to steal, he’d been left to his own devices while the rest of them leapt into the political fray. That was the only name Ignis could attach to the irritating yet not unexpected series of mental and emotional games the empire had been playing over the past two days. Aldercapt, of course, had been quick to disavow Prompto’s actions, claiming that they were an  _ irreconcilable crime against humanity and both our kingdoms _ . Indeed, he and his entire council of disreputable henchmen had offered their condolences just before arranging for the imperial chancellor to venture forth from Niflheim to attend the funeral.

The gesture provided as little solace as Prompto’s imprisonment to those who were aware of the reality of the situation. Even those who weren’t informed of the king’s ulterior motives remained skeptical at best, Aldercapt’s reassurances notwithstanding. It just wasn’t feasible that an imperial soldier could be left in Lucis, kill their prince, and  _ not _ have been following orders from a loftier power. Ignis had seen many an odd occurrence in his years of loyal service and dedicated tutelage, but trusting  _ that _ story would require him to suspend his disbelief further than he believed himself—or anyone else—capable. Ultimately, however, there were protocols to be followed nevertheless, and the chancellor was to be a welcomed guest rather than a suspicious interloper bent on igniting a coup from the inside.

Ignis didn’t have to inquire after Prompto’s assumptions to guess that that was part of the emperor’s plan all along. It wasn’t a difficult puzzle to piece together: the dotard was clearly dispatching his personal vulture to assess the climate in Insomnia and prepare to launch an offensive during Noct’s funeral.

_ How very classless of them. _

But the moral lassitude of the entire operation was outside his purview. The chancellor’s visit was a burden for the king to bear, not him, although that didn’t leave him completely without concern. Matters were well in hand with regards to Noct’s farcical sending-off and the subterfuge that surrounded it; their investigation into potential traitors, less so. They were still no closer to validating Captain Drautos’s involvement than they had been before Prompto had brought it up. The captain had behaved admirably throughout the tragic hours that intervened between Noct’s untimely demise and Ignis’s third descent to the dungeons, allowing for no cracks that they could hope to exploit. Much as Ignis hated to admit it, the endeavor would have been far simpler with Gladio to aid them. Granted, Gladio’s solutions tended to err towards beating the answers free of their human vessels, but Ignis was increasingly willing to explore it as a viable alternative to diplomacy the longer he awaited results.

Sighing, Ignis shook his head and depressed the lift button for the prison. That wasn’t worth dwelling on when Gladio wasn’t even speaking to him. Not once since their... _ conversation _ outside the infirmary had Ignis so much as spied Gladio’s face, as a matter of fact. According to Master Clarus, he had been difficult to keep track of, flitting from one place to another in endless search of a way to vent his frustrations. Training was not enough, unsurprisingly: it would doubtless remind him too much of Noct for comfort or sanity. There was no duty for him to perform inside the Citadel with Noct’s body allegedly under wraps, and home… Well, Master Clarus had indicated that home was not a place Gladio would want to be right now. Ignis hadn’t meant to pry, not really—Noct had asked after his Shield, so Ignis had been attempting to gather what information he could to set his charge’s mind at ease. What he received instead was quite the opposite. It wasn’t often that Master Clarus and Gladio fought, but the altercation he had recounted to both Ignis and King Regis was spectacular in its rarity. Although the details of the conversation were sparse, Ignis had been able to glean enough to know that Gladio had expected absolution from the wrong source, and Master Clarus had been more unforgiving than usual to make the image of hopelessness complete. That was the only explanation for his admitted attempts to foist blame for the situation upon his own son; it was the sole reason he could possibly have for telling Gladio that if he had been more astute in his dealings with Prompto, none of this would have happened.

It was all Ignis could believe at fault when Master Clarus stoically indicated that Gladio hadn’t come home since.

As Gladio’s friend, despite their tiff, Ignis found it heart wrenching. When they were short on options and time alike, it was downright  _ devastating _ .

So, Ignis resigned himself to another likely futile interrogation. Perhaps Prompto was of no further use when it came to Drautos or the empire’s ploy, but they had prepared all they could for that anyway. No, reconnaissance was the name of the game now. If they were to play host to Chancellor Izunia, who hadn’t been present at the negotiations, then they required all they could ascertain about the man in advance. On that subject, Prompto couldn’t possibly be ignorant.

Well, so long as he was capable of speaking around Gladio’s fist.

With a twinge of mingled delight and exasperation, Ignis stepped out of the elevator to see the Shield in heated debate with the guard at the end of the corridor. The latter appeared to sympathize with whatever Gladio was growling, his eyes darting between the latter and the direction of Prompto’s cell with discomfiting temptation, but he remained rooted to the spot nevertheless.

For now.

That, then, was where Ignis would have to come in.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he called as he approached, quirking an eyebrow when Gladio glared at him over his shoulder.

“Neither should you,” scoffed the Shield before turning back to his quarry.

Steeling himself, Ignis countered with a deliberately chilly edge, “Not according to His Majesty.”

That was both the right and very  _ wrong _ thing to say. Gladio whirled on his heel in an instant, his face mere centimeters from Ignis’s when he spat, “What? He want you to get ‘im more blankets? Or is he takin’ orders from Aldercapt now?”

The guard visibly twitched at that, and Ignis noticed with slight trepidation that his fists clenched at his sides to match Gladio’s. That more than anything solidified the urgency of the situation. Ignis was no fool: he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that  _ orders  _ and  _ instructions _ would override the instinctive sense of  _ duty _ that the Crownsguard bore for Noct. Gladio’s opinion mattered far more in this room than his, and if the guards decided to accept  _ his _ guidance rather than Ignis’s?

_ That is all I need. _

Perhaps their original plan needed recalculating. Initially, the design was that they would inform Gladio of Noct’s survival and Prompto’s innocence prior to the funeral; by that point, his response would have solidified the empire’s delusion that they were the victims in this instance, rendering further falsehoods unnecessary. All they would have to manage was the fallout, which couldn’t possibly be anywhere near as severe as their present predicament.

If Ignis hadn’t decided to see Prompto now, if he hadn’t arrived at this moment, if the guards’ sympathy with the king hadn’t lasted this long… Suffice it to say that Ignis had gotten lucky thus far—they all had—but staving off Gladio’s wrath would only be delaying the inevitable. Eventually, Gladio  _ would _ make it into Prompto’s cell. Eventually, he  _ would _ find a guard who would allow him his retribution when they desperately needed Gladio on their side. He would never join the empire as they feared Drautos had; his dissatisfaction and outright fury could not send him that far over the edge of reason. Even so, there were worse things a supposedly former Shield could do than form ranks with the enemy. Considering the fact that the Shield in question was Gladiolus Amicitia, Ignis wasn’t willing to wait and see just how intense his vengeance could be.

His lies had already torn a rift between the two of them. How much more would Gladio take before it became unmendable?

That was what made Ignis’s decision for him. In a perfect world, there would have been time to consult King Regis. In a perfect world, Ignis could have gone through the proper channels and made Gladio aware of their plot in a responsible, professional manner.

But this was by no means a perfect world, and Prompto was unequipped to handle a mutiny—as was Ignis.

So, fashioning as stern a facade into place as he could, he ventured down a road he’d never traveled before: insubordination to his king.

“Gladio,” he began in detached monotone. “A moment?”

Snorting, Gladio shot a glance at the guard, who was inconspicuously watching them both as though waiting for a volcano to erupt. The latter didn’t move aside, not to let either of them pass, and Gladio apparently saw it for the defeat that it was. His rage may have been in need of sating, but Ignis could tell that he was well aware of the consequences he would face if he barged into the dungeons by going through—or over—a fellow operative.

That was perhaps the only thing that had him storming past Ignis towards the elevators with his fists clenched and his teeth grinding together so harshly that Ignis thought he could hear it from where he followed a few feet behind. For a moment, he wondered if the Shield would stop or simply board the elevator and take the same tack he had for two days now—avoidance, particularly where Ignis was concerned. He wasn’t certain whether it was fortunate or not that Gladio wheeled around once the guard was out of earshot, his eyes blazing with a furious light.

“You gonna tell me you’re just  _ fine _ with lettin’ him get away with this?” he snarled under his breath. “The king’ll send his ass back to Niflheim, and we just gotta sit here and  _ take it _ ? Forget princes and politics—what about  _ Noct _ ?”

“He is precisely the reason I cannot allow you to accost Prompto,” Ignis deadpanned. One day in the future, he reminded himself, they would laugh at how accurate that statement was, given Noct’s inescapable orders.

That day wouldn’t be today, of course. Or anytime soon if the Shield’s immediate bristling was any indication.

“Oh, yeah? How d’you figure that?”

Taking a cautious step past Gladio, Ignis pressed the call button for the elevator and studiously avoided replying until the doors opened and the Shield followed him inside. All things considered, this wasn’t a conversation to be had in the open, however seemingly private their surroundings. Without knowing who might be listening or how deep the treachery in their ranks ran, nowhere was safe.

Neither was Ignis, who turned to face Gladio with the same trepidation he would a boiling vat of tar. Indeed, he was just as likely to be burned by the former as the latter when the words rose to the tip of his tongue and tumbled out in a muted rush.

“Noct  _ isn’t _ dead.”

A moment. Two. Three.

“The hell’re you talkin’ about?” growled Gladio. This time, his patience didn’t win out, and Ignis found himself pressed against the wall of the lift with the rail digging painfully into his back and two fists clenched around the lapels of his suit jacket.

But he wasn’t dead. That, at least, was a step in the right direction.

“The assassination was of Noct’s own devising and _ not real _ ,” Ignis choked past the stranglehold Gladio maintained. Even more unsettling was the way his fury seemed to morph into confusion and then, unsurprisingly,  _ distrust _ .

“You’re lying,” he ventured, cautious despite his hesitation to believe the truth.

“Hardly, but now is neither the time nor the place to explain. It would be more prudent to discuss it with him in person.”

Gladio blinked. “In person.”

“In person.”

For a fraction of a second, Ignis thought that wouldn’t make a difference. Not one line on Gladio’s face changed, for better or worse, and he stared as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. As discouraging as that was, Ignis couldn’t blame him: he hadn’t exactly done much lately to earn that trust.

Luckily, their years of camaraderie must have overshadowed two days of bitterness, because Gladio reluctantly released him and jerked his head towards the control panel with a gruff, “You better not be shittin’ me.”

Ignis sighed, straightening his jacket as he tapped the button for Noct’s temporary penitentiary.

“I can assure you, Gladio, that’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

 

***

 

_ “A Shield’s first and foremost duty is to their liege, not their sister or their charge’s guest or anyone else. Politics means nothing to a dutiful Shield. Diplomacy means nothing to a dutiful Shield. Either you protect your king or you descend into dishonor. There is no alternative.” _

_ “I thought  _ you _ were the one who told me to trust Noct’s instincts.  _ You _ were the one who said to let him lead!” _

_ “I also told you that if you required assistance in gauging the situation, you should have asked for it.” _

_ “You know what would’ve happened if I did.” _

_ “Would that have mattered?” _

_ “Dutiful Shields aren’t supposed to look weak.” _

_ “So, you allow your liege to die so that your own reputation is not sullied by court gossip.” _

_ “That’s not what I said!” _

_ “That’s precisely what you said, Gladiolus. And that is why Noctis is dead.” _

Gritting his teeth, Gladio shook his father’s scathing words into the back of his mind where they had been plaguing him for the last two days without pause. The hours that stood between him and the last time he had spoken to his dad seemed so much further away than they really were, especially when he had Ignis’s voice ringing in his ears with a story that definitely didn’t match up with the one he’d been told—the one his own father had defended to the point of disdain for his own kid. Not that it wasn’t warranted: Gladio had failed and brought dishonor on the Amicitia family. At least it was nothing compared to the way history would remember  _ him _ ; he would be the Shield that couldn’t live up to the expectations placed upon him, constantly compared to his more successful predecessors and found wanting.

If Noct was dead.

_ If _ .

It was with a dizzy sort of vertigo that Gladio followed Ignis from the elevator into a corridor that no one ever used. That was the only way he could describe the sense of utter unreality that descended upon him as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. First Noct was dead, then he wasn’t. First it was some insidious plan on Prompto’s part, then it wasn’t.

First Gladio hadn’t been there to protect Noct, then…

Well, he  _ still _ hadn’t been, so not much had changed in that regard.

But as they strode down the hall and stopped before a nondescript door, Ignis reaching in his pocket for a key that Gladio definitely didn’t have a copy of, he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to feel like a failure or be incensed that apparently a hell of a lot more had happened than the king felt comfortable sharing with him. Than  _ Noct _ felt comfortable sharing with him. In fact, wasn’t that yet more evidence that he’d screwed up? Didn’t that prove that he wasn’t the Shield they thought he should be? If he were, then they wouldn’t have kept him in the dark.

That was exactly what they’d done, though. He knew it the moment Ignis pushed the door open and they entered the room to see Noct lounging on the sofa, a comic book in hand and the most  _ normal _ expression on his face.

Gladio should have felt relief, and he distantly figured that  _ was _ responsible for the slight loosening of the knot in his chest. It wasn’t what had his fists clenching at his sides or every cell in his body trembling in...rage? Was that what they were going to call it?

The sudden widening of Noct’s eyes when they spotted him confirmed that yeah, they could go with that.

“The hell were you thinking?!” Gladio snarled, taking an aborted step forward before deciding better of it. Any closer and he’d wring the little shit’s neck on principle.

The speed with which Noct leapt from the couch was honestly impressive. It was a damn shame that Gladio was too pissed off to properly congratulate him for breaking any records he’d previously set in training. Still, his speed did nothing for the hangdog expression he wore when he glanced between Gladio and Ignis as if one of them might tell him what he was supposed to say—how he was supposed to explain why the hell he was  _ breathing _ when the whole godforsaken kingdom was preparing for his  _ funeral _ .

Ultimately, he chose the safest route. Well, in theory. In reality, it didn’t settle Gladio’s temper one iota when he abashedly shrugged and murmured, “Uh...about what, exactly?”

_ Gotta be joking. _

“You damn well know  _ what _ !”

Noct held up his hands placatingly. “Listen, no one wanted to tell you more than us, but my dad— _and_ _yours_ —said we couldn’t since Drautos is a rotten traitor.”

“Presumably,” Ignis interjected, earning himself one hell of an eye roll.

“Yeah, well I  _ presume _ he’s a traitor.”

Ignis sighed but didn’t bother replying. He apparently knew a lost battle when he saw one, not that Gladio had a clue what that battle was. Instead, he eyed Gladio warily and explained, “While you were attending a meeting with the Crownsguard, Prompto informed us that the empire’s true intentions were to have Noct killed. Rather than immediately confronting Aldercapt, Noct believed it best to use the situation to our advantage.”

“Advantage,” scoffed Gladio. How the hell was pretending to be dead to anyone’s advantage? All it accomplished was killing the city’s morale after they’d already taken a serious blow in signing the treaty.

All it accomplished was making them an even easier target than they had been already.

“If we busted them right away, they would have said Prompto was lying,” Noct immediately countered. “Then they’d just try again some other way. And that’s not even mentioning what they’d do to  _ him. _ At least now we can meet their ambush with one of our own and end this once and for all.”

So that was the game here. It wasn’t about just catching the empire red-handed. Of course not. Nope, Noct—lazy, unmotivated, and lackadaisical on a good day—had decided to make Niflheim and Prompto his cause.

Well, good for him. Gladio, on the other hand, wasn’t buying it. Not for a second. His job didn’t deal with all of Lucis or their relationship with the empire. His job, the job his dad had told him he’d failed when the bastard  _ knew _ he hadn’t, was making sure Noct kept breathing. Who cared if they had a traitor around who’d be watching Gladio for a genuine reaction? Who cared if the empire attacked the kingdom during the faux funeral? That was for the rest of the Crownsguard to deal with.

And Noct, apparently.

“We ain’t got the manpower  _ or _ the firepower for that,” he argued, setting his other reservations on the back burner in favor of ones Noct wouldn’t automatically bristle over. “Unless you got some secret weapon up your sleeve, there’s no way we can stand up to them even  _ if _ they believe you’re dead.”

It was tough to get those words out, but he made do nevertheless. The fact that they’d kept this from him for  _ any _ reason rankled like no one’s business; he’d thought they trusted him more than that. If he needed to act in order to keep Noct safe, then that was what he would have done. Drautos or anyone else (he really had to get some information on  _ that _ bombshell) wouldn’t see one damn chink in his armor if he didn’t want them to. If anything, he would have been pissed enough that he was technically right about Prompto to pretend effectively. But no, they’d hidden it from him all so they could make plans for some big showdown that was never going to work.

_ Yeah. Friends, huh. _

Fortunately for him, Shields didn’t need to be friends with their lieges. They didn’t have to cart them around to bars on a Friday night for fun—just take the scar to the face from the fight that  _ didn’t _ break out between his charge and some drunk asshole. They didn’t have to hang out and watch movies or play games—just make sure no one took a shot at the guy while he did. Shields didn’t have to get personal with their kings, and clearly their kings didn’t have to show them the same respect either.

So, Gladio removed himself from the situation and let Gladiolus Amicitia take over for a while—and Gladiolus Amicitia thought this whole thing was the dumbest idea anyone had ever cooked up.

“They weren’t just going to give up on their invasion because someone ratted them out, either,”  Noct shot back, finally looking as frustrated as Gladio felt. “Better to be the ones steering.”

“Yeah, but what’s the point if you steer everything right over a cliff?”

“Regardless of our emotions, this is the course we have accepted—that His Majesty has accepted,” interjected Ignis in a pointed attempt at shutting down that line of thinking before Noct could get out more than a grunt. “We will need to work together if we are to have any hope of succeeding.”

In that regard, they were on the same page. If there was one issue Gladio  _ didn’t _ have, it was his emotions running wild. Apparently that had contributed to the idea that he couldn’t handle the truth, so he’d be sure to shut that shit down starting here and now.

“Okay. Then what does  _ His Highness _ suggest we do? Because right now, we ain’t got an army or any evidence against Drautos— _ if _ he’s even a spy in the first place,” Gladio amended before Ignis could reprimand him for jumping to conclusions. Besides, it wasn’t like he was ready to go accusing the captain of the Glaive of treason just yet. Not when their only so-called reliable source had been sent to destabilize their government. That was the sole consideration that wasn’t upside down, especially when Ignis seemed dead set on shocking him at every turn. 

“Actually, I thought you might have some ideas on that,” Ignis admitted for the first time ever. “If anyone would be adept at dealing with traitors, it would be you.”

Dealing with traitors? Well, if that was what they were going to call stringing a bastard up by their toes without due process, then sure, he was super  _ adept _ . Unfortunately, Ignis killed his hopes an instant later.

“I would prefer not to assault him physically. Perhaps you might be able to speak with him instead.”

_ Figures. _

Snorting derisively, Gladio muttered, “Not exactly what I had in mind. Besides, it ain’t really discreet for me to strike up a conversation with the guy.”

Ignis frowned, but he didn’t argue. It wasn’t a terrible plan; Drautos and Gladio weren’t what he’d call strangers or anything. Still, they weren’t on speaking terms either. Different ranks, different duties, different organizations—they didn’t have time to shoot the shit. It was always a surprise when the guy exchanged a few words with his own Glaives; the Crownsguard was another matter. Drautos wasn’t the most loquacious person, and Gladio sure as hell wasn’t in his circle of confidence.

Prompto, however,  _ would  _ be if Drautos was as guilty as Noct appeared to believe.

“On second thought,” he mused slowly, an idea forming in his head that unexpectedly had nothing to do with putting his foot up the captain’s ass, “I think there  _ is _ something we can try.”


	19. Turning the Tables

This was cool. This was _fine_. Everything was totally, completely, one hundred percent okay.

That was what Prompto kept telling himself, in any case. It wasn’t like he had much else to do with his time when he was stuck in his cell. The lack of company was the roughest part: he was used to being around people, whether it was Noctis and the others or the guys in his unit. That was sort of the point in the military—teamwork and all that. It didn’t matter that they didn’t really work as a team; everyone was too focused on their own survival to bother worrying about anyone else. There were still warm bodies around regardless.

In here, not so much. Ignis had visited twice, and the rest of the last however many days—or _weeks_ , who knew?—he’d spent on his own. Prompto wasn’t counting the occasions when a guard would barge in with the food they definitely didn’t want to give him but had been ordered to provide anyway. They weren’t much for conversation in those brief moments, and their glares were pretty indicative of the fact that they didn’t care to strike up a discussion unless it had to do with his demise. Given that they thought he was some kind of assassin, he couldn’t really blame them there. _He’d_ want to kill him too if he took a shot at Noct, after all.

So far, though, Prompto had been surprised that no one tried to shove his head through the impenetrably solid walls or poison his meals. Either they respected King Regis enough to let him have the final word on his allegedly looming punishment or they were seriously lacking in creativity. Well, _or_ they were taking their time and coming up with something _really_ good. If that were the case, then he’d probably be out of there before they had a chance to enact whatever vengeance they decided on, at least.

Somehow, that didn’t make him feel any better.

Nor did it keep him from twitching when he heard the sound of the heavy lock on the door being released.

_...Maybe it’s Ignis…?_

He knew that wasn’t right as soon as the thought occurred to him. Ignis had been pretty clear about how often he could expect a visit—which was to say hardly at all. They had to maintain appearances, and if the prince’s advisor was spending all his time chatting in the dungeons without receiving any useful information in return (as far as the other guards were concerned), it would be more suspicious than anything else. As the prince’s oldest friend and closest confidant, he of all people should have hated Prompto the most for what he’d done, which was why he needed to keep their interactions to a minimum. There was only so much they could chalk up to his professional situation.

Like Gladio. Contrary to what Prompto had expected, he hadn’t seen the big guy once since the cluster they were calling a fake assassination went down. Ordinarily, Prompto would have said that Gladio was simply steering clear of him to avoid doing something he’d regret; he’d expect the same from Ignis. That or they’d be tied up in some fancy Lucian broom closet to achieve the same goal. Honestly, he wouldn’t put anything past anybody in this case. Either way, Gladio knew better than to venture down here, and Ignis was too smart not to do the same. That was why Prompto wasn’t too surprised when the last person he wanted to see—and simultaneously the one person he knew he _needed_ to see—strode in looking cocky as hell about their positions.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Captain Drautos sneered, towering in front of his cell with his hands firmly clasped behind his back. He was the very picture of Lucian authority—or he _would_ have been if it weren’t for the entirely unaffected, smug expression on his face. Arrogance wasn’t specific to one country or another, but Prompto hadn’t seen anyone here in Lucis wear it quite as well as his imperial superiors. Apparently, Drautos had been taking lessons. “History will remember you fondly.”

Was...he seriously saying that out loud? He was saying that out loud!

Peering past his shoulder, Prompto’s heart fell when he saw that the corridor outside was empty. None of the guards he usually encountered at mealtimes were hovering around, which shouldn’t have surprised him, now that he paused to think about it. Drautos was in charge; he ran the show. If he told them to get lost so he could interrogate a prisoner, Prompto doubted they were going to argue.

So, he was on his own this time.

Well, sorta.

Prompto shrugged his shoulders, picking idly at the edge of his meager excuse for a pillow without standing. He was supposed to be a fugitive, and fugitives didn’t stand for so-called enemy captains.

“Yeah, it’ll be one for the history books,” he murmured as brightly as he could manage. “I’m guessing His Radiance is happy the prince isn’t in the picture anymore?”

“Of course.” Words were one thing, but his tone suggested that his investment in the emperor's mood was limited at best. “But if we wish to retain our good fortune, certain sacrifices are going to have to be made. Are you aware that the emperor has denied any prior knowledge of your plot against the prince?”

_As if he’d own up to that._

“Kinda figured,” Prompto replied instead. It would be stupid to believe Aldercapt wouldn’t find out about insubordination even in his present circumstances, and given how unsure he was of how this was going to play out, he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Then you’ll also understand that any plans to mount a rescue would be ill-advised. The rest of Lucis has to believe that King Regis has the power to dispatch of you before I am able to see to _his_ end myself.”

Blinking, Prompto’s fist tightened on the pillow as he blurted out, “ _His_ end? I thought the emperor would want to just take over first.”

Drautos stared down at him for a beat longer than was probably normal. It took about that long for Prompto to realize his reaction to the prospect of the Lucian king’s death was a _touch_ more emphatic than his response to his own looming demise. To him, that was par for the course; to Drautos, he must have looked insane. Or stupid. Yeah, stupid was more likely.

Fortunately, the seemingly interminable moment passed and he continued speaking as if he were addressing a small child—who also happened to be a simpleton.

“You didn’t think that the emperor would let anyone with a claim on the throne get out alive, did you? Prince Noctis’s death isn’t the only one we need to render Lucis vulnerable.”

“Oh, uh, right. I knew that,” Prompto hurried to backtrack. “Makes toooooootal sense. But, uh…why _you_ ? The prince’s advisor said Chancellor Izunia is coming to watch me hang. I sorta thought he’d get the... _honor_.”

“The chancellor wouldn’t be able to get close enough to ensure that the Wall comes down before imperial troops arrive. Better this job be done from the inside. I have no doubt that after his own son’s failure, the king’s Shield will take a personal interest in all visitors from Niflheim.”

Ooh, talk about cold. Not that he didn’t have a point: if Prompto _had_ stuck to the plan, that was exactly what would have happened. Gladio would have been a failed Shield, dishonored and disgraced for the brief period of time that he’d remain alive before the imperial army rolled in. Whether he had someone to protect or not, there was no way they’d leave him alive to cause trouble. The same could be said for about half the population.

And Prompto. He couldn’t forget about that.

But he wouldn’t complain. That would be the same if he were still on Niflheim’s side or not—soldiers didn’t complain. Any advance information they got deserved their gratitude, even if they were thanking the messenger as they stuck the barrel in their mouths. Remembering that, telling himself that this was how it always would have gone, helped him keep his poker face sturdy.

“Well… Guess that’s it, then. The empire takes over Lucis like we’ve been trying to do for centuries, and the war ends in Niflheim’s favor.” Nodding towards Drautos, he added, “What about you? Where do you fit in to the new order?"

With a mocking smirk, Drautos dismissively replied, “That’s hardly anything for you to worry about.”

He was certainly right about that. Prompto wasn’t the one who had to worry about what he would get out of betraying his country. He didn’t have to worry about the reward that would await Drautos long after he wished Prompto the best of luck (sarcastically—so, _so_ sarcastically) and slammed the door to the cell behind him on his way out. None of that was Prompto’s concern.

Because it was someone _else’s_.

Prompto waited a few painstaking moments to ensure he truly was alone before he pulled Noct’s cell phone, freshly delivered the previous evening, from beneath his pillow.

“So, was that what you were looking for?” he whispered into the device, wincing at the growled response.

“I’m gonna _kill_ him.”

 

***

 

This was not the level of treachery Noctis had been expecting. Of course, he had believed that Drautos was involved in the empire’s machinations to some extent, but he never could have guessed it ran so deep. The Glaive captain might have succeeded too: Master Clarus was still investigating, painstakingly seeking to verify Prompto’s story rather than merely accepting his word for it like Noctis had been prepared to do. If it hadn’t been for Gladio’s quick thinking with that phone, not to mention his willingness to flout authority and red tape in order to get what he wanted, it was entirely possible that they wouldn’t have gotten the corroborating evidence to thwart Drautos in time. When the kingdom was still standing at the end of all this, they’d have his Shield to thank for it.

_Gladio..._

It was fairly obvious that he was still ticked off for the ruse, not that Noctis was surprised. After all, he would have been mad too if he had been left in the dark on something as important as this. Even so, it wasn’t a transgression that Noctis would or could apologize for. That was a conversation his Shield could have with Master Clarus--and a long one, at that. As far as Noctis was concerned, he’d come around eventually. He was a realist, and as such, Gladio would understand that they hadn’t wanted to exclude him from their plans but had been forced to out of necessity, nothing more. Under normal circumstances, Noctis would even have found a way to make it up to him.

Except these were not normal circumstances, and Noctis did not have the luxury of time. Now that the pieces were in motion and the imperial representatives were on their way, the end was drawing near--and not just for them.

It was doubtful that things would return to the way they were before he acted on his own ambitions, and if Gladio was this pissed off over a fake death, it was reasonable to assume that a _real_ death would only make matters worse.

That, perhaps, was the part that gnawed at him the most. He dwelled on it for hours, well after Ignis and Gladio had left, the latter to report to his father while the former retrieved Noctis’s phone from Prompto’s cell so that it wouldn’t be found by a guard. Even though they were his best friends and he knew that they would forgive him on their own eventually, there would be no way for Noctis to apologize for what had to come next. There would be no way to make it up to either of them or explain himself later. Listening to the whispers of the gods in his head that he had grown accustomed to over the last few days, reflecting on everything that had brought them to this point, Noctis had to admit that that was the one thing he regretted.

Not enough to have him reconsidering his plans, though. Far too much was at stake for that. And besides, he could still apologize in advance, right? Just not face to face. Getting sappy or sentimental would Ignis off, and both his friends were already a little suspicious of him after his last Astral-related cover-up. If he was going to leave them anything, it would have to be in writing.

Fortunately, he had plenty of time on his hands for that. A letter for each of them asking for their forgiveness as well as their aid in carrying out his plans for peace--it was the least he could do.

The words came easier than he expected when he sat down and dedicated himself to the task. As it turned out, although not necessarily to his surprise, Noctis had a lot to thank them all for. His friends, his dad, Luna, and even Prompto got one by the time he was through. Perhaps that was a little optimistic of him; Noctis wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to skip out on all the army and political garbage once this was over. That didn’t stop him from hoping that he wouldn’t, though.

For that reason more than anything else, Ignis’s letter was the simplest to write. With their long and eventful history, there was a whole lot more to say to him than most of the others. Noctis knew he had never spoken the words aloud or even shown it at times, but Ignis was his best friend in the world. He was the one person Noctis remembered being there for him since he was little; the days before they had met were so far off now that he couldn’t even recall what it felt like not to have Ignis to talk to when he needed him. Even more than that, he was thankful that while Ignis had adhered to his duty and obligations, he had always allowed Noctis to just be _Noctis_ as well. It was more than he could say of most people.

Which brought him to Gladio. That letter was definitely harder. The two of them had never been much for words, which might have been part of their problem, in hindsight. They often got by with an unspoken understanding, a wordless respect that allowed them to stay friends regardless of how often they were at each other’s throats. As such, Noctis had to start over a few times before he thought he got it right. Or, well, as close as possible. There were few ways to really express how much Noctis respected him and wanted him to know that none of this was down to his failure as a Shield that wouldn’t leave Gladio rolling his eyes.

After that, there were a few others that were less necessary but equally important. One for Iris, for Cor, for Master Clarus--all while Noctis skirted around the one he desperately wanted to ignore.

The one to his father.

How ironic that was. His dad had been the one to teach him that his duties would sometimes mean sacrifice, which was why it merely felt like Noctis was throwing the words back in his face with each one he put down on paper. They dug into his hand and his heart like a knife, the wounds searing him just as deeply. Would his father understand? Would he realize that Noctis was just doing this so that he could make things right? So that his father would have the chance that his duties had never allowed him to grasp? That was all he’d ever wanted, and after all the sacrifices he had witnessed his father make for both him and the kingdom, he hoped that he would understand why Noctis chose to make this one and also forgive him for it. They may not have gotten to spend as much time together as either of them would have liked, but he was grateful for what they did have. It was still more than he should have asked for.

Noctis paused, reading back over the page and swallowing the lump that had lodged in his throat until the sound of the door opening had him blinking the moisture in his eyes away. He barely had time to shove the pages under one of his pillows before Ignis strode into the room.

Quirking an eyebrow in faux irritation, Noctis demurred, “So, what? Now that I’m in a guest room, you guys don’t knock anymore?”

“I _did_ knock. _You_ didn’t respond,” Ignis replied mildly before retreating to the kitchen. “I thought you might want to know that Gladio has secured an audience with his father to present the recording.”

Noctis nodded absently and hopped off his bed to join him, leaning on the counter while he grabbed pots and pans for whatever he planned on making for dinner. Dead or not, Noctis still needed to eat, and Ignis remained convinced that that was his responsibility. “What do you think they’re going to do about Drautos?”

Predictably, Ignis glanced up from his work with an uncertain frown. “I suppose that will depend on His Majesty and Master Clarus.”

Noctis snorted. “Not if Gladio gets to him first.”

“Indeed.”

“Is he still mad?”

Ignis didn’t immediately answer, which did nothing for Noctis’s apprehension to hear it. Instead, he bustled about the kitchen, dropping a few ingredients onto the counter and retrieving a knife from the drawer before he finally met Noctis’s eyes. When he did, what stared back at him wasn’t reassuring.

“He won’t do anything to jeopardize the operation,” he evaded carefully, although Noctis wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

“Not what I asked, Specs.”

A pause, then, “It may take some time for the... _sting_ to ease. Perhaps you two can discuss it after your funeral.”

“Yeah,” murmured Noctis, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re probably right.”

Lies. More lies. That was a conversation they’d never have.

And yeah, it was selfish. No, it wasn’t ideal. But in the end, he would just have to hope everyone would understand and allow him this one last selfish act of saying goodbye when they would never have a chance to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this time, I regret to say that this story is on an indefinite hiatus due to real life responsibilities. Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience. ~Asset

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For more from each of us, please check out our individual pages at [roguehearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted) and [The_Asset6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6).
> 
> For updates on our stories, together or separate, feel free to follow us on Tumblr at wildrogueheart.tumblr.com and theasset6.tumblr.com


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